This may be a bit of a stretch for today’s prompt. It’s supposed to be about texture, and when I thought of texture, the soothing softness of a comfortable jersey is what came to mind, and with my head being still trapped in the story that I’ve been writing piece by piece on this blog for the past two days, the thought of comfort brought this out of me.
We’d been awake for hours, sitting in a room together while our minds drifted apart. I was thinking of how to make things better, while you… Your mind was far from that place, your eyes glazed over and an echo of an empty smile haunting your lips. Your hands caressed your sweater absently, moving up and down your arms in a rhythmically hypnotic motion and leaving patterns in their wake like a rake being pulled through sand.
“Where are you?” I asked, the question loud, obnoxious and selfish, though according to you that was no change.
You stared at me, through me, past me to the clock against the wall that read 4am, your hands frozen in place, your mind trying to put thoughts to the words that would restrict them.
“Tomorrow,” you said, nodding your head with resolve. I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or an answer.