It is impossible that you will believe everything in this story, even though all of it is true.
Even though all of it means that right now, I am smiling up at her while she smiles down at me, her face incandescent. This is the only word I can even think of, looking at her, feeling her — incandescent.
I’m gripping her hips while she takes me inside of her, and she is glowing. I think I’m glowing, too.
I wonder if the light we’re making will show up in the pictures our friend Sarah is taking. The shutter is snapping and whirring, and I hope so. I hope everyone in the whole world will look at these pictures and see everything. I hope I will look at these pictures fifty years from now and think, We were like a thousand fucking candles together.
Her laugh tastes like it always does. Her skin.