after hours
I walked in slowly.
Keys clasped in my fist, removing my shoes and walking slowly and carefully, like a contrite drunkard returning home after last orders, attempting to sneak back without being noticed. I didn't know whether to wake you, whether it was better to let you sleep there despite the discomfort that would come from a night spent curled and foetal on the sofa, or whether you would prefer to endure the violence of being woken with the promise that the bed is soft and will be warm soon. I considered and decided that waking would be a gentler new chapter. I let my hand rest on your shoulder, not shaking it too firmly.
You wake now and blink a few times, your eyes turning from one place to another without recognising anything fully until you see me. Your forehead frowns but eyes smile; and a hand comes up to brush hair from your forehead in an absentminded motion. Although you seem a little disorientated and still partly in your sleeping, dreaming world, i know that you are gaining your bearings slowly, blinking through from your unconscious lights into the darkness of the room and then back into the lamp's glow.
"Sorry i'm so late, Mum."
You got up a little unsteadily and walk into the kitchen, murmuring about the perils of walking back home alone in the dark and being an easy assault target for foreign workers. I smiled inwardly and retreated to my room for a little bit of heaven, a hot soothing shower with the smell of lavender wafting up in the steam. I wrap one fluffy pink towel around my hair, pretended i was a Sikh and walked down to the kitchen while practising my indian accent. It's cold and brisk here, i have chapped lips and socks on my feet; but inside i'm kept warm by the familiarity of home and a bowl of bird's nest soup you had placed on the table quietly.
All nights should end like this but it's impossible to earn them. They can only be given.
Keys clasped in my fist, removing my shoes and walking slowly and carefully, like a contrite drunkard returning home after last orders, attempting to sneak back without being noticed. I didn't know whether to wake you, whether it was better to let you sleep there despite the discomfort that would come from a night spent curled and foetal on the sofa, or whether you would prefer to endure the violence of being woken with the promise that the bed is soft and will be warm soon. I considered and decided that waking would be a gentler new chapter. I let my hand rest on your shoulder, not shaking it too firmly.
You wake now and blink a few times, your eyes turning from one place to another without recognising anything fully until you see me. Your forehead frowns but eyes smile; and a hand comes up to brush hair from your forehead in an absentminded motion. Although you seem a little disorientated and still partly in your sleeping, dreaming world, i know that you are gaining your bearings slowly, blinking through from your unconscious lights into the darkness of the room and then back into the lamp's glow.
"Sorry i'm so late, Mum."
You got up a little unsteadily and walk into the kitchen, murmuring about the perils of walking back home alone in the dark and being an easy assault target for foreign workers. I smiled inwardly and retreated to my room for a little bit of heaven, a hot soothing shower with the smell of lavender wafting up in the steam. I wrap one fluffy pink towel around my hair, pretended i was a Sikh and walked down to the kitchen while practising my indian accent. It's cold and brisk here, i have chapped lips and socks on my feet; but inside i'm kept warm by the familiarity of home and a bowl of bird's nest soup you had placed on the table quietly.
All nights should end like this but it's impossible to earn them. They can only be given.
Labels: life observations
