It has been quiet for a long time. We've just been lying here in bed sheets and staring at the ceiling. I've been trying not to roll onto his chest and fall asleep.

I can't decide what to do because I don't want to leave, but I also don't want to talk first.

I hear him ask quietly, "Are you okay?" and I nod.

I whisper, "Yeah," and fidget with the bed sheets. The more I think about how good that was, the harder it is for me to be objective.

A lot of thoughts are ...