Stay.

A notion to run first hits her 
in the early morning — that nighttime glow 
still hanging in the room on the horizon 
of his shoulders. They rise and fall
with the release of his breaths, and her panic sets in,
very nearly
seeping gradually 
through the porousness 
of her skin. “I can’t be here,” she tells herself, 
sweaty and motionless. 
“This isn’t what I wanted.” 
But she doesn’t run. Instead, the bedroom chill 
cradles her, embracing him 
in turn amidst his sleep.
“Today, I’ll stay.”