She. By CpSingleton © 2016
With the climatic suddeness of a trout’s first dream, I see nowt but befuddlement and chaos.
Slow, deep breaths and another minute passes.
Until they all meld into a full hour.
Outside, alien voices jabber away. Mine earlobes aren’t attuned to their bouncy ball nuances.
That’s a shame.
I’m sure it’s mundane, daily chat-chit, but it does sound more interesting from their tongues.
I imagine I’m a traveller, in my hotel room, listening to the plays on foreign soil, filtering though the open balcony window.
She came to me last night. She was wearing soft shoes, I think. I normally hear her steps along the floorboards. Not last night.
I was in between a snooze and a snore place when I recognised her presence.
I sound like a pretentious Jedi, but I do always know when she’s there. Whether she’s just about to knock on the front door, or sneaking up behind me at the supermarket.
She didn’t say anything. She just smiled and sat delicately at the end of my bed. It was comforting to have her there.
Before I could ask any questions I found myself nodding off.
When I woke up to the sun slicing across my eyes and the sound of aggressive conversation on the street, she’d gone.
I don’t remember cutting her a key. I’ll ask when next I see her.