Tuesday.

We made love lazily, spread out over the vastness of the bed. It took up space and time, a lot of space and time between the two of us. Later, I applied mango body butter to my stomach and thighs and he realized he disliked the natural smell of my skin. It did not matter.

We tasted the Japanese green tea I had bought on a whimsy, and tiny flecks of tea leaves swam inside the porcelain cup long after I had taken the final sip.

I said, “You always think something better will come along, and that you should keep going and hold out for it. For somebody new and improved. But that is not true.”

He said, “Nothing better comes along, if anything things get worse.” I licked my lips and nodded. He claimed the thicker pillow for himself and the sheets smelled like mango.

We both knew it did not matter at all.