It's strange. I never thought mornings were beautiful in years. Literally. They were a nuisance to my existence.
A process. A necessity for the night to come. But when I lay here next to you, I thank God, if he is up there, for the light of day.
The sun blooms on your skin; I can see the rays bathe you. You enfold them into you.
Is that how you save me, Bonnie? Is the light and goodness within you, taken from the world?
Do you save a creature of the darkness and shadows by giving and taking what is it rightfully yours?
I feel a smile on my lips.
Oh Bonnie. You are so pure. You are, too good.
I watch you sleep and you start sprawling on my side of the bed. The delicate softness of your skin embedded into the dark covers. It makes me want to touch you, so damn desperately.
Just to see if you are real.
Are you real, Bonnie? Were you sent to save me?
Are you real as the light of day falling in the space between us?
I need to touch you to believe. But maybe, I shouldn't. Maybe I shouldn't.
I withdraw my hand quickly, from stroking your hair. It immediately becomes a clenched fist.
Forgive me, Bonnie. I can't touch you. Anything I've ever touched or held has turned to dust. Sometimes, figuratively, sometimes literally.
I'll hurt you, you know. It's the only thing I know. To hurt and be hurt.
You'll understand that someday. Hopefully.
You'll understand that even light can't save the darkness. It destroys it.
Ironic that is, my little saviour..
But I can't let you try, my baby bird. If I know there is nothing to save, anymore.
I won't let me take you where there are no innocent smiles, like the one playing on your lips.
