All it takes is one breath…
She opens her eyes, sleepily, memoryless, in the early hours of the winter morn. Her bed is so warm, and she is weightless in the soft sheets. She turns into the cool side of the pillow, feels the bed shift and a warm body press against her back, hold her close, hold her tight.
“It is too soon,” the husky murmur in her ear. (There are hidden emotions in the cracking of the voice.) “Don’t go yet.”
She feels her body moving autonomously, waking, pulled towards the dawn that she can see coming through the window.
A strong arm shifts her, pulls closed the curtains to their bed, takes her hands and won’t let go.
“It’s morning, love. Time to wake up.” (She says these words but heavy in her, hidden deep, is the knowledge that all is reversed, that the meaning is wrong.)
“Just a little more time,” the voice murmurs against her cheek.
“There is so much to do. Shouldn’t we rise and face the day?”
“I don’t want you to go. I’m afraid.”
She rolls over then, curls into a body that clings to her, feels the warmth against her cold cheek (the bed is so warm, why is her cheek so cold?)
“We travel on, towards a new beginning,” she singsongs sleepily, but feels the pull of the dawn outside. She leans up, plants kisses (has this ever happened? Will it ever happen?) on the warm lips, the salty cheeks and wet eyelids of her bedmate.
“We slip away, and we are unafraid.” She slips out of the bedding, curtain pushed aside, and goes to the window. The first rays of morning are about to crest the horizon. (The Chorus around the bed is reciting, “MY FEARS I LEAVE BEHIND,”)
–and one out.
All it takes is one breath.