Page 54 of Slanting Towards the Sea

FIFTY

THE NIGHT IS THICK when I come back home, but I can’t sleep.

The longing is back.

If I hungered for Vlaho all these years, if there was a thirst I thought I could quench by stalking his social media posts, by seeing him on random Tuesdays or Saturdays, by savoring an accidental touch of his T-shirt against my skin when I pressed my hand against his shoulder as we kissed goodbye, it’s proved itself insufficient.

A mere sustentation.

It’s not enough anymore. Now that I’ve had a full-sized bite, now that the juices of that love have trickled down my throat and mouth as I bit into its tender flesh, my fingers sticky with it, my palate dancing with its taste, my heart thundering to the joy of it, I am ravenous.

I want more. I cannot subsist on crumbs anymore.

I need it all. I need all of him, or I’ll die.