And she stirs, nudging the pillow like a sleepy puppy who wants attention. She rotates her hips a degree or two, presses her cold feet together, and hugs the warm blankets as she tries to stay toasty. Her thoughts race to the events last night, and wishes she was asleep again. When I’m asleep, she thought, I don’t have to remember. Sleep releases all pain, tension, and worry…a great anesthetic. But now the girl is awake, and her mind is full of memories that she wishes she could forget. Now, slowly, she eases open her eyes as slowly as the sun rises, and with equal deliberation.
She stares at the world before her, which is incarnate in a single body, a single soul. He faces the ceiling, hands folded behind his ears; he seems to be thinking a great deal because the depth of his eyes does not compare to the blank, empty canvas he is confronted with. With one single breath escaping her lips, he can tell that she is not asleep anymore. The cream colored cocoon is that silent. Purposefully, he turns to her young face, which is still flooded with exhaustion. Her hair is tousled, the layered bangs creating a messy sea of string. Her lips are pink and her pale white skin is violated by two long, grey strokes that are so perfectly composed from her big, brown eyes to the edge of her chin.
A pale yellow tank covers her torso, while only white shorts conceal the rest. He on the other hand wears nothing to cover his tan chest, only dark blue boxers. Now staring at each others’ tired faces, she frees a tiny smile; a fake one, though. He knows that guise, he knows she is sobbing behind the soft smile she puts on display for him. His fingers then reach out for her, smoothing her wispy hair a little as they course through each strand. A sigh emerges from her nostrils, and her big, childlike eyes have disappeared once more. Becoming bolder, he caresses her tinted cheek with each fingertip, tracing the path of the grey lines. Gently, her hand meets his, and they both relish in the tiny spark ignited so briefly.
She stares at his caring face; the smooth, rich skin that seems to glow. His eyes have closed now, as he focuses his thoughts. Now, both simply looking into each others’ eyes, she loses the battle and a tiny tear drops from those deep wells. He quickly reaches over to wash it away. As he does so, her face is flooded with the tears of yesterday. “Sssh…,” he whispers, speaking so delicately as to force her attention. Her tears dry and all that is left is a blur of grey wash all over her little face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again. Although she says nothing, the look in her brown eyes spells forgiveness and he asks for nothing more. He smiles, genuinely, and leans in to kiss his most prized possession. Her eyelids delight in the gentle attention they are being given, and a baby smile, a soft smirk, sneaks over her face to match his.
Moving closer, he wraps his arm around her bare shoulders providing so much warmth in that solitary action. And at last she closes her eyes once more and sighs in part relief, part fatigue. And she smiles, hearing the lullaby before her thoughts wander willingly into unconsciousness…
