and the song Hello by Shakespears Sister
She woke up. It was the moment before dawn when everything looks grey. She rubbed her eyes and looked around in the barren room. She didn't know where she was. Getting up, she pulled the sheets with her to cover her naked body. She walked to the window and stepped on the small french balcony. It was cold; her breath rose from her lips as warm steam. It drifted into the grey air.
Not a cat was to be seen on the deserted street. Not a sound to be heard.
She turned away.
The room was grey and white. There was no colour anywhere. Her bedsheets were white and crumpled on her mattress on the floor. The little table was littered with paper. Her computer was lying in the corner, where she had flung it the night before. She pulled on a shirt. Her jeans.
She went downstairs without lighting any lamps, leaving her man lying on the second mattress, still fast asleep. There was her supper things still on the table, a mug with ice cold tea in it, a plateful of crumbs and the remnants of an apple. On the floor, more crumbs. She took the things into the sink and swept the crumbs off the floor. She turned the kettle on and put teabags into the pot. She got the paper while the water boiled and then poured it over the teabags.
World was getting its colour back. The sun peeking behind the trees promised a sunny day. She turned away from the window and put some toast into the toaster.
She'd have to go to work today. Just like yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. She'd have to continue like she always had. And even if she didn't; the world wasn't going to stop. Everything would go on even if she didn't.
She drank her tea, without milk or sugar. She called goodbye upstairs as she was pulling on her coat and heard a grunt of an answer. He'd be awake when she came back. He'd have something nice waiting. They'd watch a movie together or something.
Now the streets were full of cars. All shiny and colourful in the morning sunshine. She put on her black sunglasses and waited for the bus, pulling her coat tightly around herself. The bus wasn't long in coming and soon she was at her desk. Her boss shouting at someone. The hustle and bustle of the office didn't seem to touch her at all.
She typed and typed and typed. Then she had lunch at her desk and typed some more. At four she went into the boss's office. He shouted at her at the moment she stepped in. But he always shouted. At everyone. When she had the chance to speak, she told him to shove the job and left. She gathered her things from the table into her bag. She didn't go home yet, she wasn't ready. She walked into a coffee house, ordered a cappuccino and sat down.
She sat in the coffee house, until her cappuccino was cold and the pages of a notebook were filled with jotted down notes and little doodles.
Then she left. Walked home.
Her man was waiting with a cup of tea and warm arms. She cuddled under his arm on the small sofa. He was watching sports; she didn't care. He changed into a movie; she didn't pay attention. He kissed her; she leaned closer.
He asked about her day. She told him about it. He was proud of her and kissed her again. He held her close. On the sofa, all night.
Her glasses on the table. Waiting for another grey morning.
