Where the Blood Flows

Making friends after the apocalypse.

My boyfriend has been gone for less than 24 hours and I am strug-gul-ling. That statement says nothing of how I feel about being a 42-year-old woman referring to the man I love and live with as my “boyfriend.” I cringe every time I find myself referring to him as such. I’m never quite sure what to call him. None of the available labels express the gravi…