In My Professor's Arms
After he leaves for his studio, I clean the kitchen, the clinking of plates a distraction, but my phone comes to life on the counter, reminding me.
It's a text from Sophie, my best friend since undergrada, asking about my weekend plans. I pause, then send a vague response regarding requiring time off, my fingers hovering over the send key. Sophie is familiar with my blog, has read the milder entries, but she'd never suspect what's actually the main inspiration behind it.
I place the phone on the coffee table, pacing in the living room, the room seeming too confining, too secure.
The reading had not been just an occurrence—it was a chasm in my habit, and I dream of crossing over it. I grab my
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