The Greatest Deception

I spend every night in your bed, my head sleeping inches from your head as we dream.   Every morning I wake up and the first things my eyes see are the speckled ceiling and your sleeping face.  The first taste on my lips are your lips, the first words of my day go into your ears, and the first thing I hear are your words or your moans, whichever I can muster first.   We spend our morning intertwined, our bodies overlapping and intersecting, breakfast may only be twenty feet away but it’s a journey to leave this bed.  We eat and get dressed and I marvel at how lucky I am to have met you.  Reluctantly we leave to earn the wages that allow us to sleep in this bed another day. My waking hours disappear in a blur, full of people less important than the one I woke up with, and the one I return to.  And we hurry home to cook and drink wine and talk about the things we did, each activity less important than the one occurring now.  The hours pass in conversation until eventually sleep overcomes us somehow.  And I fall asleep with you in my arms, with the satisfaction knowing tomorrow I will wake up to more of the same.  

The greatest deception is realizing I’m the only one who feels this way.  That gossips and whispers matter more than anything I’ve said or could ever say.  Anything I’ve done or ever will do can be undone or subdued– by simply being accused.  My life is a lie, a giant stage and me  mere player on the set.  And the moment the script changes, the walls are moved and I am shuffled out again.  The phones don’t ring and the computers don’t type as they are all merely props.  The set shuffles and I am dropped off the edge of the world… 

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