personal blog: simon

the alarm chirps me awake. the aroma of Kevin’s scent jets through the air. a vague noise comes from another room. I sorely shuffle out of the bedroom to be greeted by Kevin’s pain-stricken expression camouflaged by a forced grunt and broaden mouth. “good morning,” he says looking from his phone.

“morning,” and I feel out of place.

“feeling better?”

“somewhat.”

he gets up and meets me, examining my chin. “you’ll live.” his gaze unquivering, “you’re broken?” as if he finally got what I was saying last night.

“I’m broken,” I confirm. the stoic mutter of strung up words. not a plea or an emotional turmoil, rather a deflated ruling.

Kevin nods and springs into action, drowning me into his arms, then lets me go.

“I should go,” I mutter.

“yeah,” he answers a little guarded.

“thank you,” and I mean that with my whole heart.

“you’re welcome,” he moves to the door, guarding the handle, to open it slowly.

I take a step towards it, then retract, taking a last look at Kevin’s diminished face. “thank you,” I got to translate the sincerity of my words, wrapping my arms around him, squeezing lightly, holding for a moment longer, as he returns an embrace.

“bye,” Kevin’s grin between happiness and scorn.

I exit, swinging between being apt and lucid to uncompromising and irrational. the walk home seems shorter than my journey to the bar yesterday but no less filled with memories. it’s like my brain got jolted to only present recaps of my childhood.

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© simon whittle — second act