The Moonlight Became Her

She pulled the curtains across the morning window. Rude sunlight,
meaning well, like so many of us, smacked his face suddenly. His groan
stopped her in her tracks. Not because it was a fierce one. On the
contrary. It was the softness, fightless and hollow, that woke
her up so brazenly. He had been used to the curtains drawn, a dimness
to which his mind was at ease and his body could rest with. A curtain
drawn for the last act of his show. He certainly didn’t feel like
there was an encore he could deliver. There was no strength for weeping or
drama. He had taken his bow and she fell like roses on a stage.
Her applause, cheer and happiness just reminded him more of his
loneliness and with that the solitude almost felt inviting, his warm
blanket he could rely on, because you know, you only have to rely on
yourself for that. His bed had become his raft when life started to feel more like a leaky boat in a shark infested sea.
She had left him his space for a while now.
Bravely tolerating his silence.
Today however, she returned the room to its slumber, coating it with heavy eye lids and drapes. She crept under the sheets and let her fingers travel to meet his. And with a
firm grip, they took a leap. He found her by the sound of her breath
and she let the hairs of his chest tickle her lips. The darkness
became a beautiful creature of velvet and ache and in it they started
to love again. His face grew hot with tears and his tongue fat with dryness.
The pain in his throat reminded him to live and squeezing her palm tightly in his,
he opened his eyes. Speckles of light threw him into dizziness but as
his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he could make out the rough edges
of the furnishings and as he tilted his head, he saw the dint in the
pillow, heavy with her scent laid into its round cradle and the flattened
sheet where she once lay, ice cold.