Slowly Static Builds

Rain drops drip, and like static, form an ambient audio in the hollow caves of my ears. Following paths to memories, the static drip-droping reforms moments and acts them out behind my eyes: I see you, again, with the diaphanous curtains throwing upon you an affected light, coalesced by window panes into a half-yellow shimmer. Your slender fingers, along with your palm support your head. Elbow resting upon my pillow, your head slowly sinks into your palm. Sunlight daybreaks into the room. Your eyes, until now small slits, become, for a moment nothing, and then break free of lids and become solely eyes beaming out your excitement at a new chance to live. In the mirror I spy your surprise, and amble over to your sprawled outline blown out against the patterned bedspread. The bed bends with my weight, and your elbow slips from the pillow, and your head falls to the cushy sheets, and we laugh. Slowly static builds and memories break free from acting out again moments past.