Memories of charity after the storm

[jack_babalon]

While waves of thunder and lightning blitzkrieged overhead, I slept like a baby listening to the lulaby of the war in heaven. I didn't dream. I didn't have to. Memories of her echoing along my waking into the amnesia gray morning. The healing touch, the halo of red hair, eyes the color of the storm clouds gathering overhead, her kiss redemption across these angry months of loss and want. I lay in bed and I listen to dawn outside my window- the birds cawing-surveying the damage of last nights storm, the dripping of rain water along broken branches, the distant call of the CSX wailing like a ghost that's forgotten it's name- I look at the alarm clock, ticking away like a time bomb- ready to shatter the peace around me in precisely 15 minutes. I always like the predawn mornings. When the nightlife creatures are crashing and the normies are just now waking. There is this magick hour between the dark and the light where one can still touch dreams and remember the hopes of love we misplaced along the demands of the day. I want to close my eyes and go back to her, hold her in twisted sheets that reek of sweat and electricity, follow the trajectory of her fingers along my chest, the soft bite of her lips on my nipples.
I snap out of it with only five minutes to diffuse the alarm clock, and suit up to enter the flooded earth and the horror traffic. I rise in the darkness and navigated by habit find my way out of my room, stumbling down the hallway where Samidha plays tag with the shadows and meows at me for food or attention or both, into the living room where a gallery of Asian masks stare at me impassively, I pick up the phone and dial in the job. I mutter in an excuse- something about rain. And I return to my bed
and in my head I return to her.

Comments

[000100010001.livejournal.com]

you should call me today, havent talked to you in forever.