The room had become cold from an open window and it disturbed my sleep so I awoke. It was early morning, the sun hadn’t come up yet and the dawn gave this very beautiful and somehow depressing cast of light. I got up to close the window so she wouldn’t freeze or wake up. Even more pleasant than the rooms color was the view from the window. There was no sun but I still gazed upon the soothing embrace that it offered. Only at that time the Big Apple is peaceful and quiet.
I took a deep breath, closed the window and got to my desk to see if I had written anything last night, or the night before. I didn’t even remember the last time I sat on that chair. What a big fucking surprise it was to see that there was not a goddamn word to read. It seemed like I had forgotten that my mind has been mute for a long time and still I stared at the blank page with despair and great smile on my face overtly saluting my own misery.
I sat down. The sun began to rise and some of the first rays were coming in from the window. It was fascinating to watch them as they gently touched her face, her beautiful lips that were leaning on the bed; the beautiful dark hair that shinned like the sun was whirling around her head and above all, the whiter shade of blue that colored her eyes indulging the contrary attitude towards everyone she had. I just kept on sitting there and watching her insatiably, bewitched by the realization of what a delicately wicked being she was, the kind of beauty that unfortunately has to walk around in this bitter world of ours. She deserves a much more heavenly ground to wonder upon.
The suns light became more intensive. It troubled her sleep so she awoke and even while awakening she had a very unique way to do it, by gradually opening her eyes while keeping her body quiescent, it made her look like she was still sleeping peacefully. She looked at me and smiled innocently without saying a word in a form of partial attention,. Palliative like always and still invigorating to all of my obsessions, that’s what she is. She’s my lullaby, my Lolita, my life and love, she’s heroin to my depression, the host of my beings private Armageddon, and at last she’s a woman laying on my bed, looking at me with lingering pale blue eyes that I am suffocating on willingly and a spotless smile of childlike sincerity, nonetheless she’s mine.
