He snores, but I don’t mind. Its subtle melody accommodates the lullaby his heart is singing to me. Though my cheek is at home against his warm chest, I am unable to join him in slumber. I would love nothing more than to waltz with him in the cottony clouds of our joint reverie, but reality keeps me grounded. The indigo sky brightens as dawn approaches, reminding me that as the sun rises, so will he. The romance of many couples litter the unmarked graves of dutiful obligation. Ours will be no different. His departure would certainly cast me into perpetual night as I cling to memories of brighter days. Yet I know memories often dull as time elapses. They sometimes dissolve and mingle with the fragments of fantasy, leading one to wonder if they were ever real. I need for this moment to remain real. I need this moment to stretch into eternity.
As indigo fades to topaz, I see a sliver of fuchsia on the horizon. Since when did the sun ever rise so fast? The droning melody of my lover’s lullaby breaks as he begins to rouse. The morning is already beckoning him though the sun has yet to break the surface. It will rob me soon enough and I’ll be damned if it claims a few extra minutes. I eclipse the approaching light with my eyelids, cautiously tightening my embrace. As he stretches I can feel the sunrays blazing a trail across my face. The warmth is rivaled by the heat of the stealthy tears escaping my closed eyes. I catch the evidence of my despair before it falls upon his chest. If I am to be immortalized in his memory, I refuse to be etched in a state of weakness. Not if I can help it. A tender kiss on my crown and his sweet moan precedes the words I’ve dreaded for hours:
“Good morning. Time to wake up.”
I watch him pad into the bathroom and realize I’ll never be a morning person again. It’s ironic how the two phrases that dishearten me most both share the same prefix.
Good morning.
Goodbye.