The Amateur Magician

I wake up from dreams of apple orchards.
I wake up cold.

There is nothing in the bathroom mirror — steam helps along old magic tricks I never learned. Where there was once a girl, there is now only her absence. I brush my teeth in the in-between — behind the trap door, where it’s safe to rub the sleep from my eyes.

In my bedroom, where I’ve reappeared behind the glass, I pull my hair back away from my face. The dampness lingers. Underneath the covers and sheets sleeps another heart that never holds its breath, or tries to link rings.

I wonder what he dreams about.
I hope he’s warm.

    • I’m glad you enjoyed it & related to it. It always makes me happy when someone can connect with one of my pieces.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: