I will win in the morning.

 

             Well, today for the first time I tried to warm up the bed after you. Absorb your smell from the pillow with every part of your skin. And cherish you inside. As long as possible. To feel the taste of your kisses. To drown is still in your gaze, which was a centimeter from my eyes, when our eyelashes seemed to be woven together. Whole and indivisible.

But the darkness has stolen you. You quickly dressed and left silently. Kiss in the air. And now my gaze tries to keep your retreating silhouette through the dark morning street.

It's empty. You're gone. You left before. But today, for some reason, it is especially unsteady in my soul. Perhaps it's autumn. Maybe I miss the usual female drama.

I want to let go of all thoughts about you for a long walk. Let them down from the chains, like the hungry Cerberus. Torn to shreds all around, but not my soul.

I smell treacherous with your prickly perfume. I hate it. Him and you. But I get so drunk on both of you.

I sit down on the cold sill. I try to see the first rays of the sun in the gray November sky. It also went for the company with you. Swallow the bitter coffee. It seems that this is the taste of my love. It is bitter, but beckons.

I'll wait. I keep everything about you: smell, voice, touch, your hot breath. You just come again. My night is waiting for you. Even if the morning is a brazen thief who, I hope, will soon be my ally: will lose the keys to your kopecks, and you will stay with me drinking coffee and meeting the sun.

I will win in the morning. I promise.