He closes his eyes and sees her face as he feels her breath warm against his cheek. Her smell is that of a thousand passionate kisses and he knows it all too well. It has been more than two weeks since she last hugged his pillow and smiled at him, yet the memory of her lives on through the honey sweet scent woven into the very fabric of its casing. Its scent has become combined with the sweat of the previous month but he refuses to wash it lest he lose her essence. The result is a flavor of honey soaked in a bowl of overnight cabbage water.
Slowly, he sinks his face into it and as the pillow collapses, the odor escapes through his nostrils and into his head. The smell is distasteful yet he remains there, drunk with the memories of when they used to lay in bed together and smile at each other. Those were the times when he didn’t need to capture her scent on a frowsy pillow. Those were the times when her smell was everywhere, on his hands, his clothes, his lips.
He takes a deep breath and remembers the first time their lips met. He feels his heart race once more and he begins to tremble. His lips begin to quiver and the moonlight coming through the window is as a spotlight singling him out as the guy who lost everything. He reaches for the towel thrown over the edge of the bed and wipes the sweat from his now flooded brow. He raises his head and smiles nervously as he looks over at his roommate to see if he noticed any change in his behavior, but he is asleep. He returns to his wistfulness.
This time there is a slight bump under the pillow as he lays his head down. He wonders what instrument from hell has come to disrupt his peace, his communion with her. He frowningly reaches under the pillow but his frown quickly arches into a smile as he feels the familiar curve of the beads on the bracelet she gave to him. Without looking at it he could tell his finger was on the green bead for it was always the smoothest. It was the only one that had stripped completely from being worn too much.
How did it ever get there? Then he remembers that he was playing with it last night as he does every night when he can’t sleep. There is something about the rugged feeling of the beads that calms him, that makes the noise coming from the room downstairs seem like a whisper; the vibrating of the walls from the music playing downstairs becomes one with his heartbeat, and he sleeps like a baby. He wonders how it is that something as simple as a beaded-bracelet could calm his troubled soul so. He smiles once more as he runs his right index finger over the cut in the shape of a candy on his left hand.
He holds the beads in his right hand and takes another whiff of the pillow. This time, nothing can come between them.
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