the morning after.

She woke up with a heavy heart and empty thoughts. He laid there trying to go through the stages of being conscious. Mya slowly got out of the bed, knowing he wasn’t fully asleep, but not wanting he’s attention. In the mirror, her hair was gathered at the top of her head, mascara stained under her eyes, clothes wrinkled, and alcohol still remaining on her breathe.  She took down her hair, wiped the mascara, found he’s scope and thought fuck the clothes.

When she walked back into the same clutter bedroom, he laid up.

“Good morning” he spoke low.

“Good afternoon” she spoke clear.

She collected her purse, money, and coat.

He said he’ll call. She left for the next train knowing that he won’t.. well at least not for a reason for her to pick up the phone.

People could share their bodies. They can exchange passion through their lips. If words are not spoken somehow feelings are not attached.