MEN ALWAYS WAKE UP FIRST. AT LEAST, THAT’S WHAT KNOWLEDGE ONE CAN GLEAN FROM WATCHING TOO MANY ROMANTIC COMEDIES.
Keep telling yourself, he thought, as the light from the window became too bright to ignore, she is waking up to you just as much as you are waking up to her. Dust particles swim through slivers, and everything wears that nervous expectation of regret. He really wanted to do the right thing, in this scenario. He really didn’t want to be the next asshole link on a possibly unending chain. The very same kind of chain he himself had been dragging around since when he began hating his own reflection. He needed to pee…
She had been awake for at least 45 minutes before him. Trying her best to stave off both her urge to urinate, and her urge to flee. Somewhere else, like maybe the bathroom? Some personal obscurity in which she can hide, until he made his escape. Did I leave the lamp on?, she wondered, Did he see my stretch marks?
Outside, amidst the abyss which so many either take for granted, or simply ignore, there is a dreadful susurration of solitude. Everyone is lonely, in some way or another. No biochemical, genetic, scientific, nigh religious contrivance can quantify or define.
Everyone is lonely, they both thought, in some willful disregard of physics.
He sat up, the peach-colored sheet falling from his hefty frame, every so-called flaw laid bare. Simultaneously, she did the same, her breasts, heavy and awkward, on display. Too many moments met their end before a noise from the kitchen broke apart the awkwardness, like an unexpected kiss.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
They looked & knew that everything between them required no complication. No further definition of devotion. They were simply discomfited by their proximity. And they knew their unspoken giddiness was more common than most would believe.
“You have eggs in your fridge?” he asks, as the morning shadows made a mockery of their reticence.
Everyone is lonely.
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