- Tilted Tuesday -
The sun rose and I knew today was different. Her rays seemed dull, she lacked the life she always has. Today, she did not wish to wake with me.
As I swung my legs out of bed, I felt the breeze caress me like a worn, uniterested lover. Today, she did not wish to hold me. Groping the glass at my bedside, I drank the wine that had slept amongst my used tissues. She was neither bitter nor sweet. Today, she did not wish to be tasted. Withdrawing the doors of my closet, the colors of each garment morphed into a single, muted shade of secrecy. Today, she did not wish to see me. Clinging for a sound of nuance from her absence, I conducted a symphony of Spotify's "Most Beautiful Songs Ever Made". But even in all her glory that traveled through my speakers, she sounded flat. Today, she did not want me to speak to me.