Coming home

I had been warned beforehand that Jod would be taking a nap, five hours of sleep only go that far. I quietly turned the key, at 6:30 pm the living room was dark although the curtains were still open. My eyes got used to the darkness; actually it was not complete as streetlights and neighbours’ lights glowed through the window. A very urban kind of diffused glow, assuring. The room was warm and peaceful, the meagre lighting making it feel like a comfortable and safe place out of a dream. I stood there briefly; before moving, Gizmo made a brief comment alerting me of his sprawling presence on the rug: he seems to have figured out that our eyesight is not as good as his, having been stepped on in the dark so many times. Then Jod’s mobile on the sofa lit up, considerably illuminating the room and vibrated vigorously. I encased it between my palms, waiting for the persistent unknown caller to give up. It stopped, the flat became quiet and almost dark again, although populated. I cannot say I did not feel happy right there and then.

I went to the bedroom and found an inlet on the duvet shaped by the body beneath it and lay there, in the manner of the cat. After a while I whispered:

“Do you want to wake up?”
“Yes.”

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2 thoughts on “Coming home

  1. Loxiaki mu,

    This is why I love you, for these little fragments of your life
    narrated with a fragrant warmth.

  2. your moment reverberated a bit, waking some poignant echo of nostalgia. in this prolonged winter of discontent, happiness often seems to be somewhat of a surprise.

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