I love the way you call me from high above the starry sky.
I toss my gaze to the window, squinting the tired blear from my eyes. Old street lamps sit along the sidewalk, their lights stretching to enter this dark room. I curl my body forward, sitting up and removing the arm of my unknown night guest. My fingers curl around a large T-shirt; theirs or mine, I’ve not a clue.
My Keurig whirs to life in the kitchen and my senses awaken as my tired limbs carry me towards the machine. The scent of heavenly coffee drifts to my nose, wrapping around my fogged brain; I hold the filled mug close to my face, watching as the steam rises, telling the secrets of last night.
I keep my secrets to myself. Jumping, skipping, hopping all around, the knowing grin curling my chapped and cracked lips. Soft, melodic notes reverberate against my vocal cords; all is right in the world, but I know.
I know I can only keep the charade going for so long. What I release on those lined pages of the leather-bound notebook, tucked away beneath my pillows are far worse than the monsters under my bed.
“You wife’s passed away.”
The cigarette that’d been dangling from my lips finally takes that final leap, falling until it hits the stone walkway. My brown-eyed gaze travels with it, taking in the black ashes speckling the light tan of the sidewalk cement. I’d been on my way home from the school, my last class having just let out.Continue reading “The Window”