The soft light caressed the curtains. Shabby, yet renewed in the glow. My thoughts fluttered from the ceiling to the web that stretched tightly across the corner of the room, to the bed, on which she lay. Quietly, sleeping. Her breath was beautiful. Measured, like the rhythm of rain on a parched ground. It fell on me, echoed through my being. I lowered my gaze on to her skin. I remembered it from 18 years ago. I inhaled her smell deeply to fill my senses. The thought that one day it might fly away from me and that I may never inhale it, never sense her close, never feel the warm breath from her lips comforting me in my helplessness stripped me of all thought. I lay close to the wall and looked at her again. I imagined her in a thousand different apparels. She looked the same.
I felt as if my spirit was being wrung out of me. That it was going to be threshed and laid bare for all to see and laugh at.
But c'est la vie!
Meanwhile, I shall go and hide under the red checked towel. The water droplets are still caught in its thatched fabric. They will cool my soul. I will look up and see spots of sun. I might smile.
2 years ago