That's a strange term for a light these days - mostly you hear reading lamps, but this is my writing lamp- I have been camped out, off and on, inside of Room 213 for about two months now, and the most fascinating thing that I have found is the writing lamp - you can see it in the blurred smartphone image, and the edge of the computer screen - that's what I look at most nights, it is not terribly sad, not terribly lonely, it is actually frighteningly comforting to me - I know that when it goes on, things come out onto paper, and it feels good.
Today, in between the constant harrassment of thoughts of what could be, questions about what is supposed to be, and instructions about what should be - my brain actually slowed down long enough to taste the bitter coffee and the milky creme, and to think of those Monday mornings - I love them, but I hate them at the same time - they are the mornings that I am moving on, or heading out, or saying goodbye - but stating with uncertainty that I look forward to the next one. My dream Monday mornings are no exception, I thought of that ideal morning in periods of silence today - and let the cell phone stay put, left the cigarettes in the pocket, and just thought of that Monday morning.
It was 6:15 am, and waking up, I felt the comfort of another human being laying beside me, I felt the warm touch of the back of her leg rested over mine, and even before I could focus my eyes, I knew the soft brown skin and the curves of her back. She rested, and made that soft swirling sound in between breaths, and did not move, she just lay there, she seemed safe, and she seemed forever. There were blankets, tussled and thrown from the night before, and empty glasses of water, and suitcases packed by the bedroom door. There were towels on the floor, and books that were read and shared, but aside from the clutter, there was the quiet of the morning, the touch of her against me, and me against her, and the simple fact that it was another Monday morning - and I had the time to make it last forever. I love to watch her sleeping in the mornings, she is not the same confident woman after a few cups of Starbucks or a forty-five minute work-out, she is there, and at that point in time, just wants a hand and some of those soft touches on her spine, and light caresses on her neck. She is not the powerful, smart, funny, serious heroine that fixes things when they are broken, the one who commands respect, the adventurous wanderer - she is in need of more rest, and just in need of me to be there.
Those Monday mornings are tough to dream of - they don't happen often enough - and when they do, I suppose we get numb to those 6:15 wake ups and the sights and feelings of someone next to us. Those good feelings that move through your veins like wisps of cigarette smoke in bright light, tickling and drifting, they don't come every Monday - and if they could, we would just forget them, get out of bed, grab the suitcase, and move on to answering emails and rushing to make the eight am flight. Capturing those Monday morning dreams of brown hair and good morning smiles and still embraces are the things that I want to remember - and the things that I want to breathe in and capture, and just a little more frequently, have forever...
So, I am not really certain why this came to my head today - there were plenty of other things to think about, to do, but there were enough thoughts today running through my head like a New York City bus, that I think it was time to dream and think and wonder what those Monday mornings would be like.
Next time folks.
G
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