Repose

A memory: books are closing, papers rustling. A pen is falling to the floor, ignored – displaced in memory. Does it ever come to rest?

Now: Books yearning to be opened, papers invading enemy territory. Half-filled coffee cups breathe sighs of relief visible in the harsh white light of a paper lantern. A laptop’s dim idle screen proclaims victory or at least armistice. The desk? A mess.

The floor: dirty clothes and clean clothes, intermixed; a patchwork of filth and the scent of fabric softener. A newspaper, crumpled, with last week’s headline. Textbooks in submission, exposing secrets to the clammy night air. A wallet, open; an id – a resident of California. Holographic laminate glitters beneath suffocating plastic.

A movement: a susurration of cloth, a quiet murmur.

Two figures: tangled crimson sheets, pillows lying askew. A mess of brown-and-black strands. Interlocked fingers; two rings (one for each). The memory of laughter fading into sleep and dreams of oblivion.