Have you ever really thought about the sounds your stomach makes when you're hungry? Really thought about it, I mean. Not just noticed it and sniggered in the middle of a quiet room. Sat down and analysed every aspect of the sound as it reverberates inside of your body and then through the open space we call 'air'.
No? I'm not really surprised. I hadn't until today. And quite frankly, I don't recommend doing it.
It's pretty much a waste of time. I mean, there really isn't much to it. Just the simple movements of your digestive system. Muscles contracting to move and push the contents of your stomach downwards, helping your food along the path of becoming the gooey slush that flows through your intestines. But naturally, you have none of this food in your stomach. Just pockets of air left residually from the process it's so accustomed to doing. And there you have it. Stomach growling. Simple really.
Who am I kidding? I'm no scientist. I looked it all up on Google this morning. I wanted some useless facts to throw at Clara when she woke up. Not that I'm going to do that of course. Because, ultimately, it was a contemplation I had in the haze of my dreams. The first thing that came to my attention as I fluttered out of the world of the night was the rip-roaring sound of my empty stomach. And, as you know, I do love me a bit of discussion and rambling.
I lay there for ages. Soothed by the rhythmic breathing of my lover, I lay with my eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Withdrawn into my brain as I wracked it for information. Why the fuck does your stomach sound like a bear when you're in need of a burger? What the hell is the point of it?
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I just had to look it up. I needed to know so that I could tell Clara all about the things that I'm sure that she wonders about too. Grabbed the laptop from the floor at my side and quickly googled the question. And sure enough, Google was graceful enough to provide the answer. And the second it sunk in, I realised that this was most definitely not the way to impress your girlfriend.
I know she would listen if I decided to indulge her on my new fountain of knowledge. She always does. She tells me it's refreshing to hear me talking about things since she's usually the one that's off on one. It doesn't matter if the information means nothing to her, or is just too advanced for her to supposedly wrap her head around. She just likes the twinkle in my eye and the pride in my voice. And with that, she'd listen to me talk about anything at all.
So I know she would listen. But I don't want to have to confuse her with trivial nonsense. Not today.
It's been a couple of days since her first dose of chemotherapy. And those days have been uneventful, to say the least. There's been no queasiness. No tiredness. No sweating. No nothing. She's been all clear, and that is supposedly good news.
But at the same time, she's been hidden away from the world. It's like our roles have swapped. Whilst I'm off attempting to cook her some of her favourite meals, she's stayed huddled up in bed. Not overly miserable, but not herself either. 'Content' in the idea of spending the entire day under the duvet with me watching film after film and then dozing off now and again. And as lovely as this all is, I know this is just a way of protecting herself. If she doesn't move, then she doesn't risk any of these feelings.
It's not healthy. She's caging herself away like a little bird. One that used to sing happily every morning with all the strength it's lungs could muster. And now that song bird has willingly closed it's voice box and wandered into a cage. For what reason, I have no idea. But it's unnatural. All birds deserve to fly and sing. And like fuck will I let Clara do this to herself.
I don't really want to wake her up. I love watching her in the world of her dreams. Not in that creepy way that Edward does in Twilight. That's just ridiculous. But I like to catch a glimpse of the moments she dreams of as they cross her face. Count the tiny freckles that litter her nose after she's caught the sun ever so slightly. Make a song out of the way that she breathes. Encourage her fingers to bury into the hem of my shirt, or my hair, or against my cheek...or other places.
