how it felt to wake on the right side of the bed, not the left, feet pointed west, not north. I would point to the east, on top of you, sweaty, entwined in sheets and we would lie, breathing heavily, and you would smoke a cigarette before untangling the sheets and it felt sometimes like falling from so high up was a distinct possibility but in the end i descended slowly down the ladder from the alcove.
and we never went back up.
some things only bear fruit worth tasting at those high altitudes, where oxygen is scarce and their maturation slow. there the fruit was ripe long enough for a taste but closer the ground it was just rotten and dirty and oh what a waste.