T.A. Stanley A Guide on Loving Him
One night a woman is in but pale from working kisses the side of his bed with the man she loves and he has his back turned to her. He is sleeping, but she is not, and she thinks about the fact that recently she has seen little besides the back of her lover. She has memorized all the moles on his back (two next to his spine on the left side of his middle back, one off by itself closer to the lower back on the far right, and another one even further down, right above where the sheets cover him). She makes a constellation of these imperfections as she stares. It is a strong back,
inside. He doesn't lift many things, but he does yoga and she can see the long, flexible muscles even in his relaxed state. He turns from her more and more every day. During the day it feels like a giving up, as he places his back to her while he cooks dinner, rather than look at her as she tells him about her day. At night it feels like pure exhaustion as he sighs and rolls over to his side. Sometimes she thinks it is just habit, unintentional in the pain it causes her to see him always facing the opposite wall. But if she
neck he shifts further away to let her know, as subtly as possible, that he just isn't in the mood. He gives almost no explanation—I've been through so much. I can't handle it. I'm not sure about what any of it means any more he says. She knows it's all bullshit, but he doesn't and the more he believes the bullshit the more of his back she sees. At night, after he has fallen asleep and is gently snoring, she brushes his shoulder blades with her finger. Of course, she has had plenty of time to study