Haste [h.s.]

~35~

Whatever being a boyfriend entailed was still a mystery to me.

I woke up this morning not only with a raging migraine forbidding me from basking in the morning sun bleeding through the curtains, but also vaguely remembering the moment where we solidified the label to our relationship.

I often asked myself if the calm in her eyes was a reflection of what my life had become, or what it ought to be when it's all been said and done.

I tried viewing it as a blessing rather than a curse. For so long I steered clear from any sort of potential view of what and where my life would crash into if I steered long enough, but this time the vision was splashed with so many vivid tinges of lively I'd never witnessed before.

Most colors in it reminded me of the same light that poured in through the curtains this morning and didn't disturb her own slumber, yet I couldn't find it in me to complain about the rude awakening after growing accustomed to her own rays showing me that the sun wasn't made with the intention of cursing one's day.

The sun had a funny way of showing up in the middle of the night dressed in silk and with a burning joint dangling between its fingers, and despite it being so long since the sun and I reunited, I was happy to experience its jovial ways one more time.

On rainy days I would squint my eyes up at the sky from wherever I was avoiding feeling any droplets piercing my skin and try to figure out how many clouds were in the way of us having the pleasure of being sun kissed just once more.

The funny thing is how storms always seem to last forever, but what most people don't understand is that for a better part of my life it was as if I carried a gray cloud over my head and no amount of clear skies over a stranger's normal day would take away the everlasting torrent that grew so strong it began slitting reminders of all my regrets wherever the raindrops reached.

I hardly remember falling asleep last night apart from Billie telling me she gave me the pleasure of finally being her boyfriend.

In reality, I don't remember anything after that, but the only thing that mattered was that I woke up the same way I imagined I would in my very last shred of dreams before waking up — completely wrapped up in everything she was.

Even if she wouldn't admit to it later if I asked her, throughout the entire night I could feel her stirring every hour on the dot when she'd feel me as much as an inch away from her to scoot her way closer to me.

I fought my hardest to not let it show I was coming in and out of consciousness long enough to notice, but it evidently worked.

She would let her fingers dance to the rhythm of my steady breaths down the length of my face, collarbone, arms, all the way down to my fingertips where mine twitched every time she'd bring them back up and leave them to fend for themselves in the chill of the night.

They wouldn't last long, and I didn't stay up long enough to hear whatever she'd say every time, but her lowest of whispers would work its way into me and it all felt so puzzling and familiar that by the time I would decide to try and decipher it I was a fallen soldier to my tiredness.