“Sé lest…”
- Sigur Rós
His mind drifting into consciousness, he became aware of the enticing smell of coffee cooking on the stove top and the clatter of pots and plates. He could sense the sunshine softly prodding at his eyelids, but he wouldn’t open them just yet. Not just yet.
He rolled over, reaching out across the emptiness of the bed, feeling ruffled sheets and a lonely pillow beneath his fingers. He smiled as he breathed in her scent, still lingering between woven cotton threads, and he buried his head underneath the covers.
Slowly he opened his eyes, surrounded by the muted warm glow of the sun-drenched sheets. He could hear her happy humming and knew that it was already late.
Today was his birthday.
One Comment
I like this one and the next one Gin. I think you should put a pictorial novel together.