One of the few things that was inspired by something I myself have felt another life ago, when I was a wholly different person. Sometimes, I still find her alive and well, staring at me from the toothpaste-speckled surface of my bathroom mirror.
She hates his back.
She learns that she hates it even more when it is the only side she can see from the shade of her hair.
His shadow stretches so far it swallows her own; she can no longer discern where she is – who she is – among the darkness. She vies for the light beyond the smooth expanse of his shoulders – she does not know if it is the sun or if it was his own. She basks in the ambience, and envies it too, as it touches the valley between his neck and shoulder and she thinks so insanely for a moment that she can live there forever someday.
Turn around, turn around, turn around, she mumbles beneath her breath and for the tiniest of moments, the words seem to reach him and he shifts ever so slightly that she may catch a glimpse of his face. She swears that he turned to look at her but she admits the absurdity of the thought ; his eyes often sweep the room but keep on missing her, as if drawn to all of the space around her, above her, behind her, but never Her.
She makes a promise on forever that this shall be the end. Out the orbit her feet goes and though she keeps on tripping and falling back into his rhythm, she plods on, the clunking of her feet singing the odes of her victory.
So for today she loves his back.