I woke this morning blinded by Sunday sunlight. I keep the blinds closed. The cocoon comforts me.
I let my feet touch the cold tiles and followed the sun rays’ warm promises to the window. Another blameless blue day met me with a slow grin. I didn’t want to come out and play. I closed the blinds and went back to bed.
Closing my eyes, I shut our night’s phantom dance away.
Instead, I think of my big brother. How would he have handled your wayward ways? You probably would have stayed with him. He was always pulling in good bad girl trophies with hearts of gold and medium size breasts.
I think I hate you.
I am glad you didn’t pick up.
Then, I noticed I couldn’t feel my sheet’s coolness against my nakedness. Where had you taken it?
So, I got out of bed again and stumbled around my place now foreign, empty, quietly needing. This new gap followed me mincing around my stomach and back pulling at my gut.
Until I found your note on the Chinese food delivery receipt with your number.
I waited until I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.
Moved blinds, lost sheets, a crumpled note are all I have now that you were once mine.
I think I might be in love with you.
I’m glad you didn’t pick up.