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One Day.

By Michelle Friedman

She watched him as he slept. Getting all emotional at the hypothetical

that one day, she might not have him there, have

him at all.

Because as good as it is is as bad as it can get if one day, he changes his mind and decides they're

just off their groove, the beat's dead, and they're not getting it back.

She wasn't afraid, or maybe she was but not enough, to tell him, that this was it for her.

That she would never break

his heart so he would have to break hers and if he did, she would be broken.

Nights he asked her to hold him, this big man, this proud mad, this great man.

She answered him eight hours straight in the dark.

Tight and entirely.


The best things make you feel a way you've never felt before.

He overwhelmed her, she let him surround her, he found her

she was ignited, excited, newly invited, to the possibility of us.

Could not let go of his flow, his swagger, stance and banter

he walked just a little too fast, hollering back,

"Baby, I'm going places."

In bed at an early hour she finally slept, a quick rest, somewhere inside his chest,

The sheets were dark, the room was dark, he kept kissing her neck fondled her breast

They wore nothing.

In her dreams they were dancing. The beat was strong and fast but the room was

empty. They wore red.

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