He was beebopping around the kitchen, brewing afternoon coffee and listening to a podcast. I was reading one of my occult magick books on the couch.
We could be together, without actually being together. It was our sweet way of being who we were individually, while still being in our own company. It was the sweetest spot to be in. We loved each other, very deeply, for a time. This was the time.
"The coffee smells amazing, as always." I say, as I lay my book down to go hug him from behind as the coffee reached perfection.
"How's your magick book, my beautiful psycho?"
"I like that! I'm your beautiful psycho!!"
I should have been insulted. But it was true. I was both.
In those days, he loved my psycho side.
Later, he would not.
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