George was trying to concentrate on his cuff links. Putting his shirt on was taking an unnaturally long time. The room was only half lit by the early sun. She was still sleeping. George didn't want to wake her up. And yet he couldn't help but staring at the back of her neck. Her black-haired head on the pillow facing away from him. Her elbows bent, almost pushing the sheets down. The straps of her brown nightdress.
In the right light her hair looked almost blue. He stopped himself from reaching out and touching it. George really didn't want to wake her up. He had to leave. He was late.
Found his jacket, his wallet, his sunglasses, grabbed a bagel from the bread bin.
Good morning, London
No comments:
Post a Comment