See the difficult sleep.

Two partners are at odds, physically back to back and contesting each other’s desire for the bed’s short, navy blanket with malicious tugs in the night.

We ask with innocent, innate premonition: “What happened that these two, that they sleep so angrily?!”

The answer: these bedfellows are now intermittently wedging sleep between two encounters of dreadful, lengthy sex. Yes, this night’s fucking was in fact so ghastly and time-consuming that they both deemed it “frustration” and yielded to the desire to doze.

You see, both man and woman need to wake early. And even though their mothers instructed, “Do not go to bed angry,” both sleep now.

We see the dull passive-aggression between these former lovers again–a lethargic snarl or a sigh of aggravation. Now, we need not know these two so well to make any further query about their sexual incompatibilities. Yes, it is prudent to assume that the early morning sex will smell and feel more like sweat and trial than the previous night‘s effort, but will be more like surly slander to the pair’s hormones than pious praise to consummating whatever feelings of love they have left.

Now, as is human nature, we ask why they sleep in the same bed and will continue with their attempt at making love in the morning.

But then, upon further thinking, we know. We know the answer; we know our questions are misplaced. For whatever reason, we appreciate the truth: for these people, our worry only comes from what their actions represent in our own lives. Our interest is mislead; our hope for them is hope for ourselves.

Truth be told, reader: joy needs no clarification; there is no happiness in others that satisfies our immeasurable hunger for justifying ourselves through connection with them.

However slight, however insignificant.

We will always hope for more.