apricot jam

apricot jam sprawled out, sunning itself on a piece of toast not unlike the color of sand. the sun fought its way into every inch of the room. the room warmed at its touch. lilah sat reading, unaware that she was glowing, making the jam jealous. sam had stopped reading, the room was too bright. he was squinting at her. he reached out and let the flesh of their hands communicate while they sat silently stirring their coffee and drinking the morning. love filled them. they ignored the toast. the apricot jam wept, dripping down the crust, laying down to dirty the plate. lilah stuck her finger in its stickiness and smeared it on the soft terrain of her tongue. she kept reading but noticed the sweetness with every inhale. she felt his eyes. she smiled. sam returned to his book.

his eyes had skimmed the surface of a page before he realized he was reading. his mind had been busy writing his own story. more mornings like this. children laughing. bookshelves running out of space. refrigerator magnets and finger paints. paths worn into hardwood floors. hands held and history made. stories never put to paper, but sprawled out, word ribbons tying beautiful bows around his brain. he had found himself writing these stories endlessly since he had found lilah lying in his bed. he woke to watch her sleeping. his head propped up by the right angles of his triangular arm. her steady breathing, the pillow pressing her face into a picasso, revealing the beauty of things rearranged. he had never thought himself a writer until that morning, when suddenly lilah had filled him with words. watching lilah dream, he knew then that all things before had been fodder for the feast of this moment. he couldn't find a pen so he told himself "remember" knowing one day, he would forget.