Black Rose

43.

Unlike most writers, I do not have a desk in this room. Only a couch, recliner love seat, mini-fridge and bookshelves filled with only the best of the best.

I took a seat on the love seat that was placed in front of the large window. The clouds blocked the moon on this early morning, making me feel more depressed and weary of the day to come.

My mechanical pencil hung loosely between my fingers as my eyes stared down at the journal in my lap. My kind is blank but my heart isn't.

The petals fall delicately to the ground,
swiftly swaying with the breeze.

The once vibrant red
left with ease.

Drifting far from one another,
doing as they please.

It once was a rose,
wishing for tree.

Feeling somewhat content with what I wrote, I closed my journal and sat it beside me. My pride didn't feel too good about what I had just wrote considering I'm a bit rusty. My feet came into contact with the carpet as I drug myself across the room to one of the many bookshelves. Am I in a sad lovey dovey mood, or dark mood?

"Sorry Fitzgerald." I whispered as I reached past The Beautiful and Damned. "I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity." I quoted Edgar Allan Poe, someone I should not be reading in a time of melancholy.

My eyes felt heavy as I laid on the couch with my nose in the book. I could feel bubbling in my stomach, earning a loud burp only seconds later. The burp was so loud I'm sure it travelled down the hall and to 'our' bedroom. I was proven correct as an ear-splitting fart reached the room. My chest heaved up and down as I laughed, imagining the look on his face when the horrible smell reaches his nose.

My eyes squinted as the dazzling blaze of the ever glowing star brought the earth to life. Birds sung their melody, awakening the humans with solace. A sweet smell wrapped around my body, giving me a big bear hug. I felt as if I were floating in the air as I made my way out of the room. The caramel and chocolate covered pancakes made my tummy grumble while my mouth watered like the Niagara Falls.

"Dear Majesty," I read aloud, taking a quick sip of the apple juice before putting my attention back on the neat, cursive writing on the notebook paper. "I'll be out getting ready for the day, hopefully you didn't wake up and look for me. (You probably didn't, you just smelt the food and said fuck me). Tonight, you'll meet me at Le Bernardin in Manhattan. If you get there before me tell the hostess 'Turner, party for two'. I've arranged the chef's tasting menu for us, with wine. Don't worry, there won't be any red meat." I let out a breath of air as I realized I still wasn't done with the note.

"Jesus, how much did he write?" I placed the note down and rinsed a fork off before taking my first bite of the still hot pancakes.

"Happy two year anniversary baby girl." I coo at the last sentence.

Two years really flew by. We've had dark times in our relationship, so many dark times. Last night for instance.. He never shot down the assumptions in my head, which only makes me believe he was out doing something he shouldn't have been doing. Coming home after midnight without saying a word to your wife is not normal. But for this household, it seems to be.