A SOFT SIGH OF THE BREAKING DAWN

*****

Singto puts down his pen, a deep frown etched on his forehead as he drowns his face in his cold palms. He is both mentally and physically exhausted. Mentally, after pouring all those thoughts out of his system. And physically, by writing down the words with an ordinary pen on paper.  

He was typing on his computer but abruptly stopped the second he felt like his world suddenly breaking up and started to crumble. He grabbed a notepad and a pen. Then started to write.

Write everything, anything, all the things that had suddenly emerged in his head and squeezing his insides. Pressing his brains, hurting his chest, suppressing his soul. And now, he is weary, spent, drained.

I can't stand this anymore, I just can't, his heart laments inside his chest. The song of despair and grievance is flowing again, singing a melodious tone but so sickening and depressing. I  am lonely, I miss him, God, I miss him so much, I want to see him, bring him to me, please... 

His sight clouded, his mind covered in mist. Singto swipes his view on his desk, and his gaze halts on the calendar wedged between tidy stacks of untouched paraphernalia. 

What day is today? Singto hasn't been following the updates of time lately. He feels there is no need for that.

What are those red ink scribbles?  He doesn't remember ever writing them. Singto is not the type of person who likes to write anything on paper. A gadget geek.

Then it must be his. That is his pretty handwriting. What did he write...

Then he awakens with a jolt. He seems confused, having an absence seizure, looking around. Has he fallen asleep, or was he daydreaming? Looking out of the window across his desk, he notices a soft tint of red peeking on the eastern horizon. Dawn is nearly breaking. 

A soft sigh from the bed steals his attention from the window. In the daze of darkness, he can see the blanket moving softly. Then a hand slides it open. Half a torso with a head with sleepy eyes emerges from under it.

"Phi Sing, what are you doing there? It's not even dawn, yet, why are you already awake?" the figure sits up, the blanket covering his lower half, his tousled hair a silhouette in the dim light.

"Kit?" Singto whispers, still not sure, as if he never intended to wake Krist this early. But, he is also confused. Am I dreaming or not. Did I fall asleep here on my desk? 

"Wait, Phi Sing, did you sleep there? Did you write till late last night and fell asleep there?" a sigh is heard from him again, "Phi, I've told you so many times, even writers need to eat and sleep, you're after all still human. Come, come to bed. Catch some good warm sleep even for a few minutes..." he waves his hands, inviting Singto to come to him.

Singto quickly gets up and heads to the bed. He is hurrying but why are his feet seem to be dragging. It takes him seconds only to cross that one meter to the bed. But once he gets under the blanket, Krist's warm arms engulfing him in a soft embrace have made him forget. Krist's warm exhales soothe his cold hair. Krist's warm chest is a pillow for his cheeks. Singto circles his arms around the pliant body next to him, trying to channel their warmth to each other.

"Did you write something, Phi Sing? You've been musing about it these last few weeks," Krist's fingers cover the back of Singto's head. His other hand gently caresses Singto's cheek.

"I don't know, Kit, I can't remember," Singto mumbles on Krist's neck, his breath a warm puff of air, "I know I've written something, many lines, but I can't remember what I wrote, I can't recall what story I have written, Kit."

Krist's fingers are now combing their way between Singto's hair, "Phi Sing, don't worry. I'm sure you'll finish it. Your previous books weren't finished in a day, too, right? Your stories are always so beautiful because they were never recklessly done, they took a long journey inside your head, passed so many tests inside your brain, and finally made their appearance as winners," Krist blows a kiss on Singto's head and giggles, "...best selling winners."