amaretto mistral
sweeter-ion
There is a crumpled receipt filled with red marks of thoughts, squiggles of yet another masterpiece waiting to be told but sadly the sparks died faster than the speed of the pen, lying down beside her cup of lukewarm chocolate. The way things were arranged in their coffee table was a testament of the disaster brewing. He could only swallow the choke of emotions, impending to rise in his throat. Bile continued to fight its way up, so much like his struggle to keep everything in its former state.
They said marrying a writer was a sentence to a life filled with erratic bursts of No Trespassing's, Silence Please: Noise Could Kill, appreciating literary jokes like saying literally and find the pun in saying it in front of a writer. He knew this is what he had married into, but he thought to himself, he could do it, as long as he has her. As long as he could still hold her during nights of melancholy-filled Writer's Block. As long as he could kiss her, if only to give her a new peg for her new historical romance book. And best of all, as long as he could role play for her imagination to catch inspiration.
He thought he could do it, but maybe her characters had always been inside her heart far longer than he has. Her stories better and more beautiful than the reality they share.
Perhaps, reality is the land that covers sunrise through sunset that beckons of a timeline filled with galas, soirees, mermaids, magical pixie dusts, letters and words that sing a melody more harmonious than the one that can be seen and appreciated by the naked eye. It was the reality that can be found by seeing through the sunlight, can be felt through the chill of the night. It can be seen through the shades of sunrise and its warmth keeps her company even amidst his arms around her.
Her reality is encompassing of horizons that know no limits, and who is he to compete with that? Only a mere human being, breathing the air filled with oxygen and not pixie dust that could let her fly through the star-filled galaxy into the world of Neverland. He was only a human being who can strum an opus in a guitar and still lack the melody of perfectly chosen words for an emotion he couldn't even name, but she can work her magic on. He was nothing but a mere mortal that can be defeated by her immortal legacies.
But when she does simple things, like handing him a cup of coffee seasoned with cinnamon—because she knows that he absolutely adore cinnamon, second only to adoring her—before curling up beside him in the loveseat provided by their favorite coffee shop, he could not help but wonder, that maybe his version of reality is enough to pull her away from her orbit.
Reality is finally better than dreams.