Wolves at my Feet

Insomnia.

    After dark when we are lying in our bed, if the wind is blowing I will curl myself around your sleepy shoulders and cling to you as if you are the only thing anchoring me to this planet. Occasionally you will rouse slightly and mutter nonsense, shove me off and continue down your path of dreams, and on those nights I hardly sleep at all.
    Sometimes the wind is a bird, soaring through the window or the cracks in the wood paneling to attach it’s talons and beak to my head, using my hair as a dock. If this happens I count to twenty backwards and pretend that I am in a forest clearing, waiting for Christmas. It’s that kind of illogical response to imaginary crows and ravens that drags me through.
    Other times, the howling gusts are wolves, baying at my heels as if I were a deer, my charge in to the darkened forest often hindered by trees and rocks, underbrush. If this is the case, I like to think of myself as a pirate or a mermaid, or even a camp cook in the late 1940’s - anything to redirect and pray for slumber.
    Often in the morning you are apologetic. You’ll brush the matted strands of hair from my shoulders while leaning forward to pass your lips over my cheek so lightly it’s as if an angel has given it’s blessing and you will say, “I am sorry the wind kept you up late. So sorry, forgive me…”
    With that said you will leave for work and promptly forget my sooty eyes, pouting lips and lukewarm coffee with my fingers strapped to the sides of my mug like a corset. The house will smell like day old apple pie but the only thing on your mind will be the end of the day, when you get to slip underneath the cool sheets and wrap yourself up in wonderland.
    Beyond your construction yard I will pace, my feet barely touching the earth churned by your monstrous machines and steel toed boots, half out of your sight - enough to keep me out of mind, and you’ll sip scaling coffee from stainless steel travel mugs and flirt with the receptionist, no idea of what I may be doing at home, no exceptional forethought as to what may or may not be happening just out of reach of your hands. Sometimes I’ll do a crossword. Sometimes, though very rarely, I will walk to the corner store and purchase bubble gum, the pink kind, and with this I will go to the nearest park and sit on the monkey bars.
    I will sit on the monkey bars and I will chew great gobs of neon, blow bubbles and listen to the harsh snap as they explode in to my face, obscuring my eyes and tangling my hair. By the time you get home in the evening I’ll have showered and plastered a welcoming smile on to my face, you’ll be none the wiser and I will keep my playground secret.
    At one point in my life I was asked by somebody very close to me why I could not sleep when the wind blew, strong and masculine, through the darkest of hours. I shrugged my shoulders and tilted my head in that way that females are so wont to do, and smiled with just one side of my mouth. This was not an answer, it was merely the flirtatious look of acceptance, the deliberate dodging of a question that inevitably lead to stolen kisses and wanton fingers beneath the twirly-slide. Some questions never get answered, they merely suggest there may be more to ask in the future. Why spoil the surprise, I would muse, and redirect the nosy party quite forcefully until they, at least, could fall in to their exhausted abyss of dreams, with or without me…

Reviews

[r]

I like it. It's very nice and interesting. Tee-Hee. You're wonderful at writing. The similes, metaphors, and such are great, much better than what I can ever think of. :)

[L.I. Black]

Interesting, I must say. It almost seems like a lead up, a prologue to a story. It leaves one curious to know more haha.

[Vanity]

I liked the writing, but the topic doesn't interest me so much. I suppose I should say the metaphors and similes are good. Sometimes the sentences become unclear, but for the most part you're pretty good.