Wednesday, 5 August 2009

Good Morning.

first posted on tumblr a few weeks ago.

Feel the edges of your consciousness slowly ebb into focus. Your breathing picks up as you drift into the waking world; you feel the sun burning red into your closed lids. Your head is full of flickers of words and colours and faces of the dream that you are leaving behind. Your thoughts align themselves and you realise you are awake. You also realise that you are thinking of him. You fire a round of curses at your subconscious for letting him be the first thing you think of when you wake up. Because you know, you KNOW that you are probably the furthest thing from his mind right now. Roll over in the soft white sheets. One is tangled around your ankle. Looks like you had a restless night. Sit up. Slowly. Tucking the hair that hangs across your flushed cheek behind your ear. Your bare legs are covered in imprints, red creases across your skin from the bed sheets. The light that is shining onto you through the smeared window panes is coming from an odd place in the sky. Ah. A glance at the clock tells you it is 5am. You get up anyway. Your hot bare feet leave marks on the floor and then evaporate. The view from your window is lovely, the world is hardly stirring. You open it and lean out, breathing in the breeze which stirs over the light warmth of the day ahead. You can’t help your eyes glance across the street and wash over his apartment building, resting on his window. A shot of adrenaline surges into your heart and creeps through your veins. He is there, like you, leaning out of his window, surveying the early morning city. Your eyes meet. Your heart yearns to reach out across the meters that interrupt you and touch him. You’re wishing for the impossible. He turns away from the window, and a tear rolls down your cheek.

Feel the edges of your consciousness slowly ebb into focus. You groan. Still half wrapped in dreams. You roll over, disorientated, and land on the floor. Awake now for certain. Great, you think. The first time in weeks you manage to get anywhere near a decent night’s sleep and you end up on the floor. You sit up, and without really meaning to, think two thoughts. You wonder what the time is, and if she is awake yet. You groan again, mad at yourself for letting her be the first thing you think of when you wake up. It’s never going to happen. She is too beautiful, too fascinating. You stand up, rubbing the crystals of sleep from your red eyes, as you stare into the rays of light shining through your dirty window. A glance at the clock tells you its 5am. Though the warm, empty bed is tempting, you make your way to the window, curiosity over ruling laziness. You walk to the window, shoving aside piles of dirty clothes with your foot as you go. You open it and lean out into the morning air. The city is stirring with movement, understated and quiet. A few people walk the street below. Taxis take the early morning news reporters to work. A man unlocks his newspaper kiosk. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool on your skin. If you were home, there would be dew on the grass, you think with a sigh, gazing at the world below you for a few minutes. You’re kidding yourself though, if you thought the reason for coming to the window was to look at the street. Your unwilling eyes wander up the building opposite, and rest on her window. A shot of adrenaline surges into your heart and creeps through your veins. She is standing there, so beautiful it almost hurts, hair ruffled with sleep, face bare. Your eyes meet. You long to climb onto the sill of the window and jump across the meters that separate you, to hold her in your arms. You’re wishing for the impossible. She’s probably wondering why you’re staring at her, thinking you’re some kind of freak, you realise. Your heart tears as you turn away from the window.

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