We slept quietly, occasionally waking when the tips of our feet brushed against one another’s through the thick quilt in the dead of hushed night. Our bodies remained silent, but not motionless, and my heart jumped with excited fervour each time until one of us shifted on the hard, old, lump ridden mattress. And then it sank once again, with the guilt of runaway fantasies and melancholic realisation of futures that could never possibly unravel. And between those moments we both slept, and perhaps you slept through all of them, but I think I heard you take a short, quick breath once or twice. Perhaps it was with sudden ecstasy, or perhaps with shock. Either way, the night was soon over and I was left only with memories.
So when I woke I opened the curtains to reveal a pure winter morning: clear skies and cold sunlight that reflected off the fresh, bleached snow to dazzle my sleep worn eyes. I rubbed away a hard nugget of sleep dust with a thin finger and took a long gaze at the serenity before me with clear sight. And then, finally, I noticed that a bird had disturbed it; leaving a three-toed trail through the pristine flakes that disappeared off into a far-off vanishing point beyond the extent of sight. And I felt like I was staring at the whole scene upside down, as though my brain had forgotten to revert the image so that I could comprehend it; true to life.