Sri

Perfection was a myth he would stop chasing. He woke up to her arms wrapped around his 13.7% body fat, her finger caressing an errant white chest hair, and all his self-inflicted wounds were healed. He rolled out of bed and made a couple coffees, black. “Thank you”, she sing-songed. He took a slurp and rubbed her back, tracing the contours of her spine, the last bits of his inadequacy evaporating off his fingertips.