I've been awake for about 45 minutes now. I woke up before the dream I was having concluded to my satisfaction, so I lay there, staring into nothing, trying to remember and finish the plot my subconscious was toying with. I hear a squeak, and the bed frame shift slightly. A trill of excitement runs through me.. she's awake. I roll over in time to see her stretch, making a little sqeaking noise of exhaled breath. The room is mostly dark, except for a sliver of golden light breaking through between the heavy curtains. Still, it doesn't take much light to see how beautiful she is. Her hair, splayed out around her head on the pillow, catches the light in little sparkles where her hair dried curly. The fabric of her night shirt having settled around her curves in all the best ways.
At this point I'm wide awake, but I know she is still just starting to get the blood flowing. So I wait, though somewhat impatiently, before reaching over to take her hand. I'm still a little early, but she opens her eyes as I bring her fingertips to my lips. "Good morning.." I whisper, trying not to crack the tenuous spell that weekend mornings always hold. Soon, the responsibilites of the day will intrude, rushing time through the hourglass one activity at a time. Soon it will be a weekday again with early mornings dragging us away and imposing stress on our minds and hearts. But right now.. Suddenly I don't mind so much that I didn't finish my dream. Right now, I'm so glad to be awake and alive. For the moment, I have everything I could ever want in the little quirk of a smile on her lips. If only it would last..
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Nighttime Rituals - Story
drip... drip... dripdrip... drip...
I'm awake. Again. I've rolled over and over trying to find a comfortable position. More accurately a quiet position. Someway that my mind will stop its incessant chatter. When I finally find it I hear the faucet I've been meaning to fix hammering away at the drain. Which in turn reminds me of another faucet which I'm sure is still leaking in it's pitter-patter rhythm. And that reminds me of her, and I start to roll again, kicking my sheets, flipping my pillow, grinding my teeth..
I don't know what time I finally got to sleep, but when I wake I'm groggy and irritable. The thoughts that had finally retreated from exhaustion immediately flood back making my bad mood even worse. I push back, quieting the shouts to a murmur in the recesses of my mind as I get ready for my day.
When I begin to brush my teeth I realize that I don't remember the last time I really looked at myself in the mirror. Oh, I've glanced now and then, fixed my hair, tied a tie, but I don't know when I actually looked. I find that I don't really know the face that looks back at me. When did those lines around my eyes and mouth get there? I've been putting on weight, why do my cheeks look so gaunt? I look... grim. I sigh and rinse my face off, hoping that maybe a few thousand hours of worry and sorrow will run down the drain with the water. Needless to say, I'm disappointed when I look back up.
I'm awake. Again. I've rolled over and over trying to find a comfortable position. More accurately a quiet position. Someway that my mind will stop its incessant chatter. When I finally find it I hear the faucet I've been meaning to fix hammering away at the drain. Which in turn reminds me of another faucet which I'm sure is still leaking in it's pitter-patter rhythm. And that reminds me of her, and I start to roll again, kicking my sheets, flipping my pillow, grinding my teeth..
I don't know what time I finally got to sleep, but when I wake I'm groggy and irritable. The thoughts that had finally retreated from exhaustion immediately flood back making my bad mood even worse. I push back, quieting the shouts to a murmur in the recesses of my mind as I get ready for my day.
When I begin to brush my teeth I realize that I don't remember the last time I really looked at myself in the mirror. Oh, I've glanced now and then, fixed my hair, tied a tie, but I don't know when I actually looked. I find that I don't really know the face that looks back at me. When did those lines around my eyes and mouth get there? I've been putting on weight, why do my cheeks look so gaunt? I look... grim. I sigh and rinse my face off, hoping that maybe a few thousand hours of worry and sorrow will run down the drain with the water. Needless to say, I'm disappointed when I look back up.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Valentine - Story
**Note - Anything with the designation "Story" in the heading is a piece of fiction.**
It's that time of year again. The soggy snow, or freezing rain covering the world in a dull gloom that seeps into the bones of you. Someone a long time ago decided that this would be a perfect season to tell everyone that they need to celebrate that they have someone special in their lives. For the rest of us it's a time to glare and spitefully imagine throwing snowballs at the happy couples. Hands breaking apart as they reach to touch the tender red welts left by the heavy projectiles.
That's what I'm thinking as I walk down the street, hands shoved as far into my coat pockets as they go, headphones on blaring whatever I think will help me forget that I'm walking home alone on Valentine's day, again.. People talk about how it doesn't matter. That you shouldn't need to have someone in your life, and Valentine's day doesn't mean anything. But it's all bull. When it comes down to it, when you're flipping through tv stations in the dark because all of your friends are busy with their wives and girlfriends, when you've finished off your third drink and are fishing around in the fridge for another.. this would all be so much better with someone.
If it weren't for the wisps of steam fogging up my glasses, the sigh that comes so easily would have gone completely unnoticed. As I wait for my vision to clear I start to feel the anger and frustration rise in me. I grit my teeth and pull my phone from my pocket. No calls. No texts. I punch in my password and start to compose.
Hey. How's it going? Just thinking about you... :)
My finger hovers over the send button. Why shouldn't I send it? What's so wrong about letting her know? But then again, what if I scare her..? I want to throw my phone down the street. Instead I let out another sigh, close my eyes, and tuck my phone back into my coat pocket. Shoving my hands back into my pockets I start walking again, kicking little piles of slush as I shuffle along through the dark.
It's that time of year again. The soggy snow, or freezing rain covering the world in a dull gloom that seeps into the bones of you. Someone a long time ago decided that this would be a perfect season to tell everyone that they need to celebrate that they have someone special in their lives. For the rest of us it's a time to glare and spitefully imagine throwing snowballs at the happy couples. Hands breaking apart as they reach to touch the tender red welts left by the heavy projectiles.
That's what I'm thinking as I walk down the street, hands shoved as far into my coat pockets as they go, headphones on blaring whatever I think will help me forget that I'm walking home alone on Valentine's day, again.. People talk about how it doesn't matter. That you shouldn't need to have someone in your life, and Valentine's day doesn't mean anything. But it's all bull. When it comes down to it, when you're flipping through tv stations in the dark because all of your friends are busy with their wives and girlfriends, when you've finished off your third drink and are fishing around in the fridge for another.. this would all be so much better with someone.
If it weren't for the wisps of steam fogging up my glasses, the sigh that comes so easily would have gone completely unnoticed. As I wait for my vision to clear I start to feel the anger and frustration rise in me. I grit my teeth and pull my phone from my pocket. No calls. No texts. I punch in my password and start to compose.
Hey. How's it going? Just thinking about you... :)
My finger hovers over the send button. Why shouldn't I send it? What's so wrong about letting her know? But then again, what if I scare her..? I want to throw my phone down the street. Instead I let out another sigh, close my eyes, and tuck my phone back into my coat pocket. Shoving my hands back into my pockets I start walking again, kicking little piles of slush as I shuffle along through the dark.
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