Claire began to drift into a quiet sleep, curled tightly on the small sofa. I went into the kitchen, starving from not eating my dinner, and helped myself to her childish assortment of breakfast cereals.

When I returned to the living room, Claire was in dream state and the Hitchcock film had ended. The television now glowed with The Golden Girls. Secretly, I loved this show, and only watched it when Claire was at least two blocks away. It’s a guilty pleasure to watch elderly women be so witty.

I abandoned the cereal and the television, too tired to care about food and entertainment, and settled my interests on watching the sleeping form of Claire. I really loved her. Not in the romantic kind of love, it’s something much deeper.

We never really tried the relationship ordeal. We never had to say it, but we knew it would be an obvious disaster, like every relationship that came before us. I would never do that to myself. I would never do that to Claire.