Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Stories from the other side.

[Before I get to the piece. This is just to say how good it feels to be writing again. After so long.]

I wake up to the sun streaming in through sheer curtains. The early morning light, not quite yellow and not quite orange. A strange aching in my throat, a strange fear in my heart as I turn to look towards you.

You've gone. Left for work, probably. Leaving a dented pillow, undone sheets, and a horribly mangled blanket in your wake. The path of destruction goes further, as I will find out when I get out of bed and follow your morning routine, after you.

I reach out for your pillow, and smell. A long, deep inhale. A combination of sweat and oil and something that is completely and essentially you. I hug the pillow tight, wishing it was you instead. 

I don't know what distances us. Our dislike of conflict, our hate for apology, our dislike of each other. I can't pin it down to the one thing. But it's there, a white elephant that rests comfortably between us, every night as we turn away from each other, willing ourselves to sleep.

Can we bridge the distance, bring our pillows closer and sleep head-to-head again? I don't know if we can. It seems as if that elephant sits not only on our mattress, but also on the many pieces of our hearts broken and left to die, miserable and alone. 

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