His Monday Morning

The alarm went off, and music filled the room. He was nudged sideways. The girlfriend turned him away from the lamp by the wardrobe. I heard him make some illegible sounds of gratitude. The rustling sounds of clothes racks and a quick kiss indicated that it was time for my morning walk. Morning dew and the chilly blanket from the night hang over the grass. I went back to sleep. An alarm rang again. It was a phone. The ringing this time around was much less pleasing than the symphonic symbiosis of Beyoncé-Timberlake from earlier. Sleep sat heavy in my dry mouth. I stretched, happily knowing that I didn’t have to get out of bed – I had already had my morning walk. I saw him stumble out of bed. He gave little thought to the neighbors across from the kitchen window. They would have seen him naked by now, anyway. The coffee beans released their fragrant aroma as the grinder beat and cracked them open. Ground beans met hot water, and a smell of dark chocolate and toasted nuts danced tantalizingly across the apartment. He shuffled back into the bedroom and selected socks and pants. He put on my favourite woollen sweater. I hoped he did not mind all the hairs on it. 9.30: the second alarm went off. He would have to work the bike like a race horse and spur it on as if life itself depended on it. Like when he ran up and down the street, trying to catch me the times I ran out on adventure. The door slammed shut. I tilted my head, slowly, wondering. From one side to the other. He had left his bag behind.


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