I open my eyes and prepared myself for the morning.
A golden neck bone lined by the rising daylight, looking attractive in its simplicity. I touched it, once and again, her warm skin under my finger, a reminder of how we are alive! How young are we?
We are teenagers; our hands are inexperienced, too big for our limbs, and we are unsure where to go or what to think. In this hand are pens, books, and big dreams. We like to discuss the future in bright colors; we are full of the blossoming hope of what it can contain. None of us say that thin strings of fear tie our lips, but our dreams are intertwined. None of us know what love means, our kisses are ignited by hands and inexperienced tongues, but I know better about the lines on her lips than the words in my book. None of us know anything, but we know each other very well.
We grow up, but not too fast, as does everything, willy-nilly, with anger, lust, and tears. She's holding a bottle of coke, smiling at night, flushing her cheeks. She was brighter than any star in Universe, and I wondered if I could make a ring for her finger by replicating her eyeballs. I smiled a little and sipped my Coke bottle. I know she is one.
"You do and know nothing, irresponsible object!" She yells at me, staring desperately at the dirty dishes in every corner of our rotten kitchen. She's tired; I'm tired too. We both know that we don't usually get angry at each other, but the weight of the bank, the loan, and the cost of the house are depressing. I bit my cheek. It's both my fault and hers or no one's fault, in my opinion.
She is still lying on our bed and hugging me tightly. I still make her coffee in the morning. The first was astonishing, with happy cries and happy screams at the beginning and terrible cries and tears at the end. But she is alive, and so are our children, which is one of the surprises. And they are both deeply ingrained in my heart. Indeed my heart will never run out of love for them. I realized now that I was wrong.
We have two more, and it's still enough room. Babies grow faster, faster than we did. They are sickly sweet because of their young, plump cheeks and soft hands. I wake up in the morning to birds chirping, which sounds more beautiful to my ears than the song. One morning I woke up to the smell of fresh grass, which fascinated me terribly. I woke up one morning, called by the golden rays of the sun, its soft light hitting my face through my window.
I woke up one morning. But she doesn't.
I close my eyes. :(
