Sleeping, breathing, stuff like that. Sunlight through the blinds. Dried seed on the insides of her thighs and bedsheets that should’ve been washed the week before last. She smells like butter, or maybe Battenberg cake. Her body will one day wrinkle and sag and there will be a time when it will be as if she were never even here but for now she is mine and hers and when we eat Chinese and drink beer watching movies after doing nothing all day long we smile and that’s enough. The morning hours are still. They shine and chirp with birdsong. Dust particles that wave hello from the other side. Piles of clothes in the corners of the room and rodents that blink at the sky through the bars of their cage not knowing what it means to be alive. It could be yesterday. It could be a dream. When we disappear beneath the duvet we are the only souls in the universe, and when we enter into a heightened state of awareness, we slip free from our chains and escape into a lonely void that’s not so lonely when compared to the place we left behind with all those faces that say so much but mean so little. So many lives wanting to matter- so much anguish. Yet we had it all figured it out from the start which is why we let them be. Taking a bite from her shoulder, she mutters and wriggles her toes. Nestling my face between the back of her head and the pillow, we are motionless yet hurtling through time and space as if it were no big deal. We are portals and sandcastles that break apart beneath the crashing waves only to come back together. So many tiny rocks. So many millions of years of which we will know yet but a handful.
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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