only one who knows

The Morning

I think Roger layed me on the bed because I woke up under the white covers with him by my side. There was warm sunlight shining through the window. I supposed it was around 8am. It was Saturday so none of us had to go to work and we could sleep a bit more.

I looked at him, with his relaxed expression, eyes closed and white milky skin against also white sheets. His chest rising up and down as he breathed through his parted lips. Brown chocolate hair sprawled over the pillow and some strands perfectly framing his face. He looked very pretty, I thought. I didn't deserve him. He was too much.

I hugged him and rested my head on his chest, listening to his regular and slow heartbeat, proper to a person in deep sleep (repouso). He woke up for some milliseconds to hug me back and fell asleep right away. And I did so some moments later.

--/-/--

I woke up again on an empty bed. I glanced at the window to see two sparrows rapidly flying to some tree, in contrast with the bright sun. There was also a nightingale happily singing. The rays of the strong light met my face framed by the shadow of the tree's leaves. How peaceful it was.

I lazily stood up with my long shirt and peeped through the window to see the nightingale. Another sparrow came to meet me on the window sill but then quickly flying away when I tried to pet it. Some kilometers from distance, I could see the city and its big towers. I always loved Europe's Gothic-like buildings and castles. These are the prettiest and make you feel like you're living in one of those fairy tales that mothers used to tell their children to sleep.

Suddenly, I could hear the sound of a piano being played. It was a really simple melody. Something that sounded almost like one of the most elementary melodies written by Antonio Salieri.

I went downstairs to find Roger playing on the piano. I listened to him while he struggled to get the noted right. I think he was improvising, but it wasn't bad at all.

“Finally dusting of that old friend?” I said when he stopped.

“Oh, good morning!” he turned to me with a smile, “Did I wake you up?”

“Not actually. I was already awake.” I smiled back, walking towards the kitchen to get myself a piece of cake and milk. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“I have, thank you.”

I came back and sat with him at the piano.

“Do you know how to play it?” he asked.

“No. Do you?”

“Not really.” I laughed at his response “We have a fucking piano and don't know how to play it.”

“Well,” I said, placing my food upon the instrument “I guess we have to learn.”