автор: Sonya_Markoff

It was late at night. The wind was whistling through the windows upstairs, but downstairs was quiet and warm.
The writer was curled on the couch under a huge blanket. His pale hands were still on the black keyboard of the laptop. The writer s forehead was the only other visible part of his body. He was thinking... Actually, he was trying to let his mind roam wild... but his sinuses were so congested by the flu that no thought could be easily roamed to. Engaging all imagination, the writer could hear the sounds of a summer creek produced by the humidifier... and feel the warmth of an August sun, created by the heater by the coach... Argh, the writer thought, where is my muse?... It was funny that he asked this question aloud. He knew the answer very well. With his puffed face, glassy eyes, and swollen nose... even his girlfriend had found an excuse not to come to have dinner tonight. He was alone in the house. At first he tought that this was a perfect opportunity for him to work on his poem. He planned to incorporate it in his novel... But every time he wrote something, she hurried to read it, then she would be quiet fo some time. Few hours, she would talk on random topics, and then, when he least expected it, she would look at him, with her brown watery eyes, and she would say: "I didn t know you felt like this about me"... Then he would remind himself never to share work with her. She would refuse to understand, that a poem was just a product of a momentary feeling and a handful of words that sounded good at this moment. Then sometimes she would cry. He knew what he had to do... hug her, tell her it is all gonna be ok. She appeared so vulnerable. He would kiss her cheeks, and dry her tears with his hands. At this moment he usually felt that he wanted to be with her forever to protect her from evil and disappointment. He wondered whether he should propose to her... Then she would stand up and pretend that nothing had happened. She confused him often, but he liked her. He wanted to marry her one day... He was afraid that she younger than him. He did not want to steal from her the years when she can still be partying and enjoying life with her friends. He felt too far from the time when his mind was so free of care that he could just spend the evening laughing, and drinking, and having fun in a bar. He felt too many dark shadows of worry around him. Things he had to do loomed like dark clouds on him, and rained on him annoyingly... He laughed. "What a great metaphor, or is it a simile. That your "To do" list consists of clouds that follow you like in a cartoon movie and rain on you". Then he started coughing. And he coughed until he almost threw up. Then he sighed carefully. He folded his laptop and put it on the ground beside the couch. "I d better get some sleep tonight", he said. He covered himself fully under the comforter, and started falling asleep.