The wooden breakfast trays under the bed in the charming yellow guest room might just come in handy. Yesterday they were pulled out and the dust kitties swept away. Lemon Pledge shines up the white oak slats atop pull-out legs. Yellowing packing tape holds them together for the yard sale this summer. Removed quickly with one zip. Like a bandage over freshly pink skin healing. The romance nearly disposed of for a few crinkled dollar bills revealed.
Virgin boudoir accessories. Kind of like me. At least of late. Half a decade or so. Hate to admit it. Bey hey, it's the truth. And you all know I never fib. Well, almost never. But this is the truth. Pinkie swear.
My darling guest will sleep in the very room where the breakfast trays resided for nearly six years. I imagine the sun peeking through the slats of the wooden blinds creating zig-zags of light playfully dancing across his face. His greying hair sparkles in the early morning light. The ceiling fan whirs gently overhead creating a sweet breeze. Cooling his skin. Mohair throws add a layer of comfort to the white trapunto coverlet delicately hand stitched in Portugal by the sea. The scent of coffee brewing on the kitchen counter wafts through the winding floorplan. Through tiny well appointed rooms. Stirring him from slumber. Peacefully. My heart aglow. Warmed by the whisper of one final romance. Universe, are you listening?
Upstairs in my crisp white room solo, I sleep cocooned in the multi-blanketed safety of my home. As sleep reached into the inner crevices of my mind's eye the night before, the moon rose mother-of-pearl in the May skies. A calm. A knowing calm washes over me. Transcends my being. Comforting me in a way I have never known.
To the promise of a new day dawning pink a'blaze with color, lightness and hope. Imagining infinite possibilities. Every single one of them could happen. If only.