morbid morning...III.

Wish I had started these some other time, there are much, much more pressing things to talk about. Anyways, I'll just finish it up and stick it in the archives.

You stir a little, sensing maybe this growingly alert presence next to you. Her lazy, rolling agitation has been swelling per second. She hasn’t tried too hard to stomp it down, for fear that it will backfire and burst, that she will find herself just climbing on top of you and laying herself hard and close, demanding.

You turn towards her, your eyelids still in full view, and you stretch your arm out. Your hand brushes on to her hand, and you leave it there. Nonchalant and friendly. Your feel quenches her, calms her briefly. But then she hates it because she likes it too much, covets this too, this simple touch of fingers. And then it makes her want more.

She cannot help herself; she begins to stroke hesitatingly with the skin right under her nails, right at the center of your palm, maybe almost imperceptible to you. But then you turn your back again, and your hand deprived from her too with it. She watches your back for a second or two, as you drift back into your realm.

She looks to her left at the night-table, just as the neon-red crystal strokes of your alarm clock spell out another minute past. Another minute ruined by her anticipating its end.


When you finally do open your eyes, you’ll find her lying like that, staring at the ceiling, and she won’t be aware, but she’ll look so morose and lost in thought, you’ll have to ask her what’s wrong.

And she’ll say ‘nothing’, and maybe it will tell you nothing, but it is true, nothing will actually be wrong at all.

She should tell you the simplest version of her thoughts perhaps, that she’s been lying here next to you, wishing you awake. But she will feel that it sounds like a petty complaint, and that you deserve more, you were so generous the night before.

And she will see your eyes, and she will reason that you do seem quite tired anyhow.


And besides, there is more than that, more than she can pin down, more than she could ever say.

That there is this greediness to her, that she cannot be sated, that she feels inhuman, or that she wants to be, that she woke up this morning, and her day seemed already over.