It had been a week of restless nights. Sheets piled at the foot of the bed in a knotted innocent mess. The lovechild of jet lag and two am anxiety. Each night as he fell into the crook of her neck, asleep before eyelids shut she would draw his arm close around her breasts and listen as his breaths grew louder.
It wouldn't be long til the creaky wooden bed would shout out with his sudden jolt awake. Short of breath, eyes wide but mind creaking open slowly as the shakes would start. She would try to soothe his nerves with milky reassurances and tight embraces but they were band aids on bullet wounds. She knew only one solution. She had to stay.
But as she would try to hold his shaking hands lit by the moon creeping through the curtains, she knew she had to go. That if she didn't it would be her shaking in the early morning hours not with the fear of losing something but with the knowledge of having been to afraid to risk it.
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4 comments:
jetlag and anxiety and sleeplessness the world and timezone over...feel the same.
Yes, the thought of taking that risk is enough to keep anyone awake.
"Each night as he fell into the crook of her neck, asleep before eyelids shut she would draw his arm close around her breasts and listen as his breaths grew louder."
Can we forget the shakes and just live in this one sentence forever? No? Damn.
Breathtakingly beautiful, Camille.
4.48am for me, usually.
But the emotions feel the same.
And, as has been said, beautiful writing.
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