Lone Delusion.

It wasn’t full. Not yet. Almost as a forewarning, the crescent moon grew as it slipped behind the birch trees off in the distance.

As his words billowed through the atmosphere, encircling her, she took a drag from her cigarette and let the sheet that draped her body slide to the floor, revealing nothing but black lace and skin that seemed to dance in the moonlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow.

“God, last night was as beautiful as you are right now,” he sighed as he inhaled the scene before him.

“Making Love is always better when we’re exhausted,” her tongue simmered back as she exhaled slowly.

Despite the hotel fine for smoking in the rooms, she opened up the window and stood motionless before the bitter wind, letting the smoke drift. There was no one in sight, other than a lone trucker asleep in his bunk and her lover buried beneath the pillows in the bed behind her.

The night before, two hours short of her destination, she gave in to a full-nights rest after traveling for two days on one hour of sleep. In tears, over grief she couldn’t express for the land in which she roamed, for those that came before her and for those yet to come, she asked the front desk for a room.

Seeing her distress, the front manager offered his best and handed over the key “Darling, I hope you have a better night tonight.”

Thankful, she stripped down and collapsed in a mountain of white feathers and blankets. No driving. No music. No computer. No coffee. No talking. Just tears of relief as she sank further into his arms and fell deeper into her dreams.

As a wicked gust snapped her out of her fixed gaze before the chase between the setting moon and rising sun, she spun around to ask him in a panic as the crisp-white sheet tangled at her feet like a veil, “Where are you?”

Chills rose from the depths of her mind as reality set in. His side of the bed remained untouched, as hers lay in messy heaps from the nightmare in which she found herself that moment.

No answer.

The room was empty.

Not a sound could be heard but the sifting of the snow blowing through the panes of glass. As if a ghost, she slowly turned back toward the window with longing and grief rising in her throat, mirroring the language of a lone wolf …

Silently howling at nothing but a trick of the mind.


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