En Air

12.53am.

12.53 am
'I'm going to head to bed,' comes his river-cool voice cutting through the death-still darkness. He untangles himself from my limp hold, slipping his arms out of my pale grasp easier than normal, easier than pulling out of a crystal-clear pond. But my thoughts have made me weak. He plants a kiss in my hair, but instead of blooming into a springtime garden like normal, it fades on his lips and falls, like an autumn leaf, to the floor. 'Goodnight, I love you,' he calls over his tanned shoulders absent-mindedly, as though throwing confetti into an effervescent blue sky. 'I love you, too,' my voice calls out weakly, automatically. With that he is gone. A million miles away in everything but presence, and my heart thuds a repetitive lullaby used to put children to sleep after a nightmare.