Saturday, September 1, 2012
She sleeps alone, finding her nightly pilgrimage setting with the rising of the sun.
Solar rays light up dust particles that kiss her skin, "Good morning" she says.
His face the first and last thought upon every hour of this day; of every single day.
Perhaps not every hour of every day, but in a sad attempt to serenade him with the beating of her not-so-rhythmic heart, everything seems to become enhanced somehow.
Those empty pockets between her fingers ache as she drums to the beat of every second passing by; Every second brings her closer and for a second her clouded vision subsides at the thought.
Life moves in a slow motion reel, as if when she opens her eyes it's the farthest from Friday she'll ever be.
Monday is her reality and Monday seems to grip her so tightly, she seems to forget she isn't dreaming. She tells herself she isn't dreaming.
Her restless soul moves like sea foam, riding upon the back of every ocean wave bringing her just close enough and pulls her back.
To break free would be an ever so lonely slumber; she choses to remain vulnerable to the pull of the tide.
After all, like her, the tide has a longing for what keeps it in motion.
He moves like the ocean; he comes and goes, enticing her senses and leaving her breathless.
His touch, like a cool whisper of the wind, gently tapping against every corner of her mind.
She bites her now numb lips at the thought of every shiver sent down her spine.
She tells herself she isn't dreaming, but if Friday is ever so pleasant, her dreams must be a rushing whirlwind of Ghirardelli chocolate.
"Unreal" being the understatement that haunts her every moment of every day.
Swallowed in a down casing, she sleeps alone.
Eyes drawn to the moon outside her window, like a moth to a flame, she wonders how, with all this distance, that the goosebumps lining every inch of her body can feel so heavy.
So heavy, like the burden that is Monday, like the burden that keeps her restless only dreaming of Friday when she can, for a moment, feel what its like to be engulfed in his arms.
Posted by Girl Who Cries Wolf at 6:00 PM