We rolled around in that gray huddle – on the days the weather turned deathly gray. We slept naked. And I never felt cold when laying my head on his chest to doze.
Chris and I were together for 1 year. We lived under the same root like many other couples out there. The nature of my work allowed me to stay at home almost full time. I barely got up early while Chris usually woke up at 7 am to prepare for his working day.
I am an easy sleeper who can conk out no matter what. However, I was conscious of Chris’ doings every morning despite me closing eyes and being cloaked in the blanket.
Chris habitually kissed me before going to work, never missing a single day except for the weekend when the two of us lied dormant together till noon. I was often kissed on the cheek, or shoulder, or lips. Even when I was snuggling underneath the blanket, not until he pulled it out to kiss me did he leave for work.
After our split-up, I realized that was what I most reminisced about Chris, neither when he drove me to a romantic peak or creek nor when he made love to me.
I’m blurred how he could do it that routinely, as he’s not at all the lovey-dovey type who showers his SO with flowers and presents. He also didn’t say love to me and reckon about our future. I never asked his motive. Again, what I wonder is never why he did it, but how he could do it that routinely.
There was a time when we were leisurely talking about those old days. He got off his chest how hard he felt after I had left because he was unable to do that habit each morning.
At the first beginning after me leaving our abode, he still kept the fur bathrobe I bought to use as a nightgown at home. Even now I do remember how shaggy it was, how snuggly it was, and how grayish I loved. The bedding set and pillows were bought by me too and they were as well gray mixed with black and white on the city printed pattern. We rolled around in that gray huddle – on the days the weather turned deathly gray. We slept naked. And I never felt cold when laying my head on his chest to doze.
It was not gray the day I left. There was dry sunshine in the hood. I passed by the lampposts where I often walked to for a puff as of the lonely days I’d just moved here. Now I can no longer recall the names of that street and that neighborhood. Furthermore, hardly can I have a chance to go back to those light poles of that bygone day. Nevertheless, I could vaguely muse about the place’s appearance and quietness.
The hood was quiet, my lover was quiet too. We lived peacefully during the most wintry days in a northwestern European land. We grilled sausages together. We enfolded each other while sprawling on the sofa to watch Netflix.
We left each other no gifts. Our messages were lost somewhere. Very few photos were taken together. Yet the memories of those airy days, where there were only him and me, are as monumental as if I spent seven to ten years living quietly and lazily in my loved one’s arms.
