POLLUTING

She had considered it before, yes, it had been a recurring thought in her mind, but never had she been so stirred by the dancing image in her head of a boyish, girlish figure whose tilt of hair tickled her lightly under her nose, perhaps causing her to sneeze into the sunshine, where she will finally, suddenly be awakened by the sudden wrinkle in her orientation.

The disorientation knocked her from writing- in terms of she's and he's at least, for in the future it will only be she and she, and that would be disorienting to the reader as well. But there she sat on the wrinkled flowers of her bed sheets, contemplating this lost figure of the "he" and the addition of the "she" when she simply decided that pronouns were nothing but pronouns, and people were simply people; love was just love, the sun still rises, and the day still ends. 

Fallen nights in sleepless minds, we collapse onto a sofa bed plush with unspoken thoughts. We speak with games and crude laughter as well as  language for unnecessary consumption, and in the soft crease of morning it came to a cease, with a delicate face upon my shoulder and eyes too pretty to be closed. No more fabrication of a sturdy soul, just a sleepy, rhythmic shell, tender bones and subtle movements. 

In the morning we rise with hollow bodies and slight headaches, we clean the house of empty glasses and dump vaporized alcohol. I wore my mustard-yellow coat and before we exited I entered the winding staircase to a loft where she resided, exhausted and asleep. Half her leg was out the cotton sheets and beneath it tucked a dainty pillow; her eyes closed and hair scattered along her forehead and cheeks, where she breathed in and out like tides and ebbs, where I gently nudged her sleek shoulders and whispered a few words. We are going now, I'm leaving I said, and slowly her eyes opened, like a blooming flower in spring, so gradual and sudden and beautiful it takes you by surprise, and she blinks a few and stared at me, so deep and beautiful my heart skipped a few, and she looked as if she came from outer space, looked at me as if I were unknown, then she suddenly recognized me, perhaps the same way I had her, then she muttered a sound, voice light as a grasshopper that I took as an acknowledgement. 

Yes I was leaving the door behind and last night's fierce, when she suddenly walked down the stairs in her shorts and put on her skipping shoes. Her eyes were wide and tired now, and the whole way we walked to the morning station, I stared at her in disbelief, for I could not forget the way she looked, as her eyes fluttered like a singing hook, in the dawning break of day, my heart opened a book of play.