I walked outside. There seemed to be a mist settling down in the hills of my home. I was awakened by the questions torturing my mind but now I wondered the safety within my mind.
My eyes were blood red, dry, my face burned from the shattering headache. Like a steel rod red hot, driving itself into my head. The mist, with the aid of the wind, wet my face gently. Easing the pain just enough to get my mind together. The record player was just making noise, crackling with a ghastly sound through the halls. The sound waves found their way into my head. A long sigh, love is just a long sigh, I walked inside, put on a new record. The sound of an old guitar, the beat settled in an unorthodox manner. I poured more whisky into a used glass. Lipstick stains. Someone was here. Have I been with someone this whole time?
I heard the gentle footsteps, soft skin pushing down on the cold hardwood floor, somewhat in a hurry. Pitter patters in the safety of the fireplace. She sits down, turns to me, now I can see her face decorated by the reflection of the fire. The confusion still in the gray with me. She smiled, unsure of herself. Good morning she whispered. I set down my drink. Was I imagining her? Come sit she said. Too struck to think I submitted. A warm kiss on my chapped, frozen lips. Good morning love, good morning, if you’re really here.