Thursday, 5 January 2012

London Diary 51

Touch.

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It's important.

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It's essential.

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And it's moments like this that I never wish would end.

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It was a calm night outside. The winter had arrived, bitterly cold, and she knew there would be a cold frost the next morning when she would head off to work. But at least there was no wind, howling and rattling along the fence.

They lay next to each other, close to one another, their body heat migling between the sheets. The baby was quiet in the cot and although they both lay awake in the bed, for one, brief moment, everything was just-

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Perfect.

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Perfectly still.

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There was nothing that was said between them. Maybe, just maybe, too many things had been said in the past. The bitterness and the tears that had washed away much of the trust that they had in each other. So for now the silence was al they had. For once the city was silent. Well, Monday night. That means she also didn't work that night. Mondays were always too quiet for the clients to come out. Believe it or not, it was always Tuesday or Wednesday. . Thursday and Friday would be at the pub, the weekends with the families, but for some reason, men usually paid for her company on a Tuesday or a Wednesday.

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It was probably the only time they could reconcile their own conflicting emotions. On a Tuesday!

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So what lay in store for both of these lovers? Lying side by side. Silent, neither of them wanting to puncture the silence that had enveloped them. Neither of them pretending that they were asleep. Both were very much aware of the other one's conscious state. Both had decided to lie still, and simply lie together. Touching each other. At moments intimate. At moments sensual. And at moments gentle, fingertips.

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I don't want to go to work tomorrow.

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Neither of them wanted to go to work that morning. Slowly, as the night passed into morning, they could both see the twilight pouring through the windows. Another day, another dollar, another 24 hours where both of them have to struggle through the city, all in the name of survival. Not living, just pure, barbaric, survival. Food, shelter, warmth, that was all they earned enough for. The clothes they wore was second hand, the food they ate came out from the sell-by-date bargain bucket lines, and the slimy feel of the walls was due to the years of damp building up beneath the wallpaper.

Neither of them wanted to get up and face the morning light, trying its hardest to burst through the dull clouds that always hung limply over concrete blocks surrounding them. Eventually, something would have to stir. But for now, they both lay there, touching, feeling one another. Sleepless and silent as the night turned into day. Fingertip caressing, the only bit of gentle feeling that either of them knew in this harsh, and bitterly cold winter's morning. The memories of a better life, now horribly distant, left the two of them clinging to each other. As much for warmth and comfort. But also in desperation. Both of them knew, and realised that it was not only love that kept them side by side, but also the very knowledge that no-one else wanted either of them. Wasted, as they were, littered with the mistakes they had made in the futility of their own history...

1 comment:

magiceye said...

love your narration!