"This moment when I sit on the edge of our bed, awash with the blue of your comforter. Every few seconds, I glance at you. Your dark curls of hair, a mess in streaks of dim light prowling in from a crack in the window shade. Your back rises and falls. I wonder if you crush your nose in a forest of pillows or simply press it into them. "You are in a new world. A world where you cannot appreciate the light hum of your snore. The folds of white tee scrunch more tightly together each time you turn. Somewhere, in that world, there is light. It is brighter and illuminates more than the skewed streak from a street lamp can in this stale atmosphere of being awake. "I have been here in so many moments, both in light and darkness; however, only now I notice this moment, so much that I taste a velvety gratitude with every swallow. The walls seem taller. Ridges in the ceiling cast mountain shadows. Rummaging scents of dryer sheets, looped in the crevices of the oval fan at the foot of that bed, permeate even the tips of my fingers. On occasion, frigid air wicks our toes. The soft cotton of that sky blue comforter skirts my waist and yours. I clench it in my hands to feel these seconds. How nice it is when I have the warmth you leave in its corner or a patch in its middle to press against my nose. "You are still here." - "After The Trees," Joshua Peterson (2013)
Posted on: Sun, 29 Sep 2013 08:33:40 +0000
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