I could see the sun slowly rising over the rooftops of London. The sky a mix of colours; orange, pink and red, the bright mix slowly taking over the black night sky.
Your eyes flickered open and you looked at me. " Is it morning yet?"
Your voice showed the tiredness your appearance did not.
I smiled sadly and said: "No, we have a couple hours left"
I could see the questions filling your eyes, but mercifully you did not voice them and then you let your eyelids flutter close again. I was seated with my back against the headboard and the covers up to my waist. As I reached for the half-full pack of cigarettes I could not help but think of the new day dawning, and what it would mean for us. Lightning one of the thin sticks and taking a drag of it, slowly exhaling the grey-white smoke, feeling the toxic smoke leaving my body and entering the air around me. I could not identify my feelings, both yearning for the morning and dreading it, as i would feel about the long ahead future, the difference: i know you will be here in the morning. I let my gaze wander to you, stoping at the sight of your hand, resting agains my hipbone. Letting my index finger stroke the skin of your scarred hand, tracing every mark. I took another drag of the cigarette I let the apprehension fill me, making every thought filled with anxiety and fear; for myself, for you, for the future, and then i let the breath leave my lungs, and did the same with the panic filled thoughts. The smoke twirled around me: my metaphor for thoughts and emotions, the smoke disappeared, blending in with the air, and as the last sign of smoke vanished, so did my thoughts. I looked at you and I thought:
"The morning'll be all right"
This is based on the song "In the Morning" by Keaton Henson. I wrote this real quick, so give me a shout if I have misspellings and other faults, I'd be real grateful!