Within These Pages

Time is a River

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Over and over and over and over.

When does it even end?

Tick. Tock. Tick--

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee--

"Oh shut up already." Reaching out from beneath the warm covers and slamming his open palm down upon the snooze button, Girolamo sighed, rolled over, and stared up at the ceiling. A faint glow of grey sunlight filtered in through the white rice paper blinds, casting dancing shadows upon the hardwood floor of his bedroom. With a sad smile, he quickly threw his sheets to the side, longing for nothing more than a hot cup of espresso macchiato to drown his sorrows.

How many mornings had he spent like this? Too many to count it would seem. The everyday routine of waiting for his alarm to go off was starting to become etched in his skin, from the constant frown lines and the bags beneath his eyes, to the just overall overwhelming sense of exhaustion that was getting harder and harder to obscure.

"Insomnia's a bitch." He groaned as he rubbed his eyes and walked over to the quaint bathroom adjoining his bedroom. Glancing up at the small, well kempt medicine cabinet mirror, it did not surprise him that he looked like a total wreck. His hair was all disheveled and his lack of shaving had left him with some dusty looking stubble. Scratching the side of his face, Girolamo tsked.

"Well, whatever." Deciding to just go ahead and get ready for work after taking a piss--despite the fact that he got up two hours too early nowadays and had loads of free time--he walked over to his chest of drawers. Just like everything else in Girolamo's life, each drawer had it's own function. It's own designated use: the top one for socks and underwear, the second down was shirts, then pants, and finally and extra drawer on the bottom, left empty for a number of reasons. The main being that certain critters that he'd want to stay out are known not to be good climbers, so an empty drawer just to be safe.

Always extra steps just to be safe. And where had that ever gotten him? Girolamo scoffed, pulling out a white dress shirt with a black tie, a red cardigan, and a pair of khakis, then slipping off his night clothes he grabbed a towel from the closet and hopped into the shower; his outfit was neatly laid out on his unmade bed.

The scorching hot water that ran down his back was somewhat soothing, but still, a light feeling of anxiety played at his insides. No matter how many mornings he would drag himself out of bed and hope for something more, he would always feel more so like the hall clock than anything of importance. Get up, get dressed, work, then while away the rest of a pathetic day stuck trapped in this God forsaken town with nothing more than his own misery to keep him company.

There was once a time, that seems so long forgotten now, that he had hope for his future. He had many things that he would have liked to become. Not that he can remember any of them now. Just like the skin covering his bones, time too wore away at his aspirations, leaving an empty hole that is best filled with a cup of coffee and a mound of books. Knowing that he still had about an hour and a half left to get ready and suddenly feeling too tired to stand, Girolamo sat bare on the bottom of the tub, hanging his head and letting the water flow down his pale back.

"Yes," He muttered slightly, his eyes closed. "Coffee and books. The best remedy..." Girolamo breathed out a content sigh as he slowly dozed off.

---

Cinnamon masked in lemon. The smells of ink and newspaper pages. Orange peels and a hint of bergamot drowned in an overbearing yet subtle smokey scent. It felt like home. Like a genuine place to put up your feet and relax by the fire. A place where you'd have someone waiting for you to come back to and where you could do the same.