I’ve been racking my brains about what to write with no inspiration at all. Most of my starts were lame this week; usually this doesn’t happen to me. Then, I thought of my favourite print a woman I used to know owned of a bed with rumpled white, white sheets under a window that looked out upon a summer morning. I couldn’t find it online but this one felt almost the same.
From both photos, I get the sense that something wonderful happened in that bed. It didn’t have to be sex at all (although that would be nice) but a night filled with whispers in the dark, secret touches, breaths colliding in unison, and two minds exploring the dreams of the other.
Then a morning escape for a day with a future.
Makes one sigh. I sure did.