Lying next to each other, gently rising from a sleep encased in the air of the night before. Salty arid atmosphere, comfortable in the sweat and stains of the sheets. Happy for the touch of dirty, sexual skin. Glad to feel the pressure before we open our eyes to the empty room. Emptiness filling our guts, our insides. Inside our heads, our stomachs, our rib cage. Both of us empty of explanations, empty of positivity, all of it drained by the passion and lust of the night before.
The warmth of the night lingering, lying in the cold light of day. In seconds, memory slowly plays back to us the promises of the night. Each kiss a promise, tens maybe hundreds of broken kisses we’ve exchanged in the air of the room, floating aimlessly around, needing somewhere to rest. But a breeze blows in and they scurry out of the room through cracks in the floorboards, under the door or back through the window.
Cold hearted reality drifts in on an early morning day dream. Lust was the lie, love was the promise.