Once upon a time I had a different blog. I deleted my words, then wrote some more. I then deleted the blog, then undeleted it but felt the need for a fresh start, so I started this blog. Somehow I managed to tie the two blogs together, yet I dont know how I did or even why. Lol. I really don’t write on the other one. But I have drafts and I came across this particular piece. Which is weird because I thought I had at one time blogged this piece or something very similar to this piece. Maybe I did and this was just a second draft. I remember thinking this piece had potential to evolve to a story. Maybe it’s meant to be one. Maybe a story with some truth layered inbetween the fiction…

She ‘ll be dead by nightfall…the only thought that runs through her head as she lies under the warm covers, its heaviness formed to her body, holding her still, she cocooned on her side of the bed, the left side. She can’t seem to move, to fling off her grey mood, the same deep quiet color as the bedroom walls. It is a darker hue, more masculine she notes, especially as the sunlight, filtered by the blinds, dances on the wall above the headboard. Her eyes follow the delicate flickering for moment as her mind drifts to him and the beautiful afternoons that spent remembering how light laid gracefully across their bare skin, such transient light that cannot be unseen, unfelt, unremembered…she feels the darkness creep in once again, that beautiful thought fleeting, just like he. she throws back the covers. The hours ever ticking. Her deadline’s come. She wonders how her last hours will play out. With a heavy sigh she shuffles towards the kitchen to brew her last cup coffee, take her last sip, spill her very last words. If only he were to read them. If only he knew her heart…


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