She rose from her bed, her head still groggy and her eyes half closed as she tried to shake off the sleep that clung to her like the humid air that was barely stirred by the ceiling fan above. The dream was still in her mind, as many nights before that she dreamed of him…his body bare before her…exposed…glistening…weak…but somehow strong. The once sharp image of him vanished though, like dreams do…leaving her the all together feeling of disappointment, sadness, loss.
Looking over beside her, the bed was empty. Her husband had gone to make the coffee as was his task. She took this moment of solitude to wipe the moistness from her eyes and arranged her sadness into its familiar shield…hiding in the contours of her body and the lines on her face. She suppressed her bitterness, stuffing it away in that dark void, the place where we hide those feelings we don’t want to feel. This was her morning, the way she started her day, her ritual from the moment the boy left her.
She rose, she bathed, she took the sweet coffee handed to her by her dear husband, a smile on her face and a kiss for him. She went to her computer…her work waiting…her other life waiting…she smiled wistfully…the dream forgotten.
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