cracked

“you were wonderful,” she murmured as she fingered the soft curling hairs on his chest. he smiled. though his eyes were still heavy with sleep, he opened them enough to glimpse the pink of her flushed cheeks in the morning light. they always looked like roses, glistened with dew, waiting to be picked . there was a small indentation - like an outline of a bed sheet just under her ear - she had slept well.

he sighed and groaned playfully as he heaved the rumpled comforter from his warm body and stretched his legs. he reached for the shade and invited the sunshine into the room as he  blandly scanned the front yard. he had left the car door slightly cracked. he grinned and remembered the excitement from the night before. he hadn’t been thinking straight. he caught her shapely body out of the corner of his eye. she was curled up under the covers. she had fallen back asleep. he could watch the noiseless movement of her sighing chest all day long . his mouth was both sticky and dry. he reached for the forgotten glass of Pinot Noir on the bedside table.

“you were wonderful!” she yelled, leaning over the edge of the banister so that her feet barely touched the floor. her hands were waving with excitement as she hurdled down the front steps to greet him. The old Volvo heaved from the cracked pavement and onto the gravel driveway. she could hear him playing through the outworn speakers - she wasn’t sure how, but she could always tell when it was him - something about the music sounded different. even the happiest of songs took on a mournful lament when he played them. he turned off the radio, stalled the car and gave her a sheepish grin as he opened the door. they kissed, and he held her close. she tucked her nose under his stubbly chin and breathed in the sweet scent of his fading aftershave. they took each other by the hand. his mind was racing, but his grip remained steady. she led him inside.

“you were wonderful.” she said with the kind of confidence that seems inherent to the Queen’s English accent. she was born in Bath, and he couldn’t help but think that that’s exactly where he wanted to be - a steaming tub, a glass of Pinot Noir, and someone’s gentle hands caressing his face. she lingered slightly longer than she should have. he was in no mood for a chinwag; he just wanted to go home. he gave her a grateful nod, and let the weariness in his eyes catch her hopeful gaze. she smiled and sauntered on. he used the moment of solitude to nestle his french horn into its worn and cracked case. he checked his watch, and snuck out the back door of the concert hall.

“you were wonderful,” he said, gravely. but the words were cold, as though someone else had spoken them. the thought sent shivers down his spine. his cheeks were blushed red from the chilly winter breeze rushing across his face. his eyes were bloodshot from the tear sodden night. perhaps it was cliche, but he no longer cared. he unfastened his hands from the long-stemmed rose and let it fall onto the polished casket. he couldn’t stay for the service. he couldn’t stand in this spot a moment longer. his world was shattered, and he felt cracked like a broken mirror - the pieces of his life fragmented - each worthless shard reflecting the same image back at him:

her, her, her, her, her

he wept.
nothing made sense anymore.