I think most men have no one but their partner to touch. Imagine asking one human to manage, in addition to herself, the entire physicality of you. It must be an endless labor to love a man. How badly did we need to hold each other back then? What anxieties arose in us, waiting for evening when we could greet each other?

Because that touch is what I remember first about you, I think the muscle memory must live, still, in the curve of our arms, my cheek against your temple, your hand on my shoulder blade.