Where lover’s sides meet and hurried breath reaches pillows and dreams, I lay alone. The lights of the city spilling onto me, the weight of my solitude felt through amber and fluorescents. Coupled hearts tend to sleep as the sun tip toes upstairs without a creak, the floorboards of earth mindful not to wake the children of love.
I stand at the window, cold feet touching cold glass, and the secrets of morning are spread across the cracked river. There is a silence when the world is lavender and still, that is beyond humbling. A silence that once wasn’t there and instead was filled with the joy of life, and the simplicity of sleep. When slow songs wrote themselves and scraps of paper were filled with words like "you" and "soul." When morning could creep up without being noticed and linens wrapped bodies like packages of lust.
And now, the silence is so loud, it screams without warning and throws me against the window at dawn, and I am left asking questions to a lingering fog; a fog that like me knows no direction and is boundless in its edges. I have the capacity to love so hard, I know I do. Somewhere between the eyelid of darkness and the blink of day, its there, waiting to inhale and to consume, just as the moon does sun, and the river, for now, does my heart.
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