March 27, 2011
The grey January day starts to slip away. Reality loosens it's suffocating grip. She just lies, motionless. Through the water's glassy surface the familiar mop of grey hair is visible. He is standing there, towel in hand, the usual calm patience visible in his soft, aged features. Rising out of her warm abyss, she let's the soft cotton surround her, the familiar rise and fall of his chest mirroring the quiet flutter of her heart.