Six in the Morning

 

It’s 6 in the morning when the damned alarm wakes me from a gentle dream. Sometimes my dreams are more real to me than the days of work that lay one on top of the other endlessly repetitive, one blending into the other. The world isn’t there yet beyond my bed. I hit snooze just to go back to your arms, to feel you soft and warm, fitting against me too well for us not to have been designed as two parts of one.

 

It used to be me that was aggressive, always wanting more. But I lay back. Here, snuggle quietly or struggle to tame me again. When I finally build up enough awareness to open my eyes, you’re gone. Your half of the bed was never unmade. You’re gone, having taken pieces of me with you. I shower so I can work for eight hours for another day. The details of nails and wood grains will fill my mind.  At work the talk is about the things that don’t mean anything anymore. All I want is to feel you in my arms. To smile ear-to-ear when you snore. Please, tell me what I’ve done wrong. I’ll thank you this time.  If I could just kiss your eyelids and breath you in deeply once again.   

Reviews

[goldfishgirl]

Very well written.