What I needed to hear...
The morning light peaked through the mini blinds tattooing my face with stripes of soft warm sunrise. Tired eyes pry to the faint daybreak light with unwanted solar distress, still hazy, adjusting. Crusty rubs brighten, then dim, and then brighten again to blurred vision that slowly fades to a paralyzed clarity. Admiring overhead, the craftsmanship of purely random spackle dancing across the ceiling like indoor clouds of imagination. Mono chromatically bleached milky current of frozen slush spilling evenly to every corner. Ivory glazed Braille gibberish or Rorschach textures of Freudian consequence decoded purely for the colorblind. Frosted, pale topography of undiscovered territory absent from the neutrality of even Switzerland. Left leg and foot numb from constricting, tangled sheet angst not unlike partial mummification. A quick twist releases blood flow, making way to the dilated cerebral arteries relieving my splitting migraine. The temporary liquid amnesia, and provisional confusion weigh heavily on welcoming the memory of last night’s events. Parched morning halitosis, chapped lips, and silence to hold in subsequent lies or avoid liberating a myriad of truths. Pillow talk is now a one way conversation with a bag of feathers muffling the hangover prayer. Rustling in the bed gives proof to her awakening and validity to playing possum, suppressing all senses. I could feel, what I remember to be green eyes, making my identity, squashing any chance of an alias. With the anticipation of her getaway one eye opened cautiously, along with freeing one ear from the baffle of goose down, witnessing her clumsy, yet whimsical jaunt to the bathroom. Standing naked at the sink, with a weak scoliosis arch of exhaustion, not stature. Staring into herself, obviously not the expected reflection but she double checks anyway. Hands cusp to the faint sounds of tap water and the aquatic baptism splashes her face like a disobedient super soaker. As she pirouettes to the attention of the bed, I realize I’m not as sneaky as I thought I was. Struggling to hide her dizzy stroll with a runway model’s swagger, she makes way to my side of her bed settling herself in the only space provided by my fetal position. The soft touch of her hand caressed my neck and shoulder, and I awaited the hushed tone of those 3 words we all like to hear. As she leaned in I could already feel the heat of her breath moving along my neck. Her whisper was joy to my lingering ear. “Get out, please”. Exactly what I needed to hear...
