2 o'clock and 47 minutes.

I've been awake at this time for a week now.
I'm laying on my bedroom floor.
I find the ceiling comforting.

2 o'clock and 47 minutes.
My heart is racing and I'm weak.

2:47 and I have forgotten everything I've done outside of this room.

It’s 2:47
My bedroom is filled with smoke.
Forming shapes of soldiers battling over me.
I am wounded I can’t feel my limbs and my head is heavy.
I  feel the vibration underneath me, of feet digging into the ground, running.

It’s 2:47
I am a soldier.
My armour has failed me.
I am bleeding.
I am cold.

It’s 2:47 and all I see is white.
Does this how death feels like.
Empty.
Cold.
Dull.

It’s 2:47 and I'm floating. I see the sky above me, stars are shining brighter than I have ever seen the sun shine.
I foolishly  expected the stars to warm me.

It’s 2:47 and I'm laying next to the enemy.
She’s battered and wounded, too.

It’s 2:47 and the enemy is beautiful. She’s laying next to me. I see her lungs rising and falling and I'm amazed at every shallow breath she takes.

2:47 She’s in front of me.
Her naked back.
My gaze is tracing the architecture of her body.
Her spine, shoulder blades, neck.

2:47 She turns facing me.

2:47 I want her.

2:47 She’s the enemy.

2:47 She is the enemy whose whispers are sharper than a sword.

Her words can flood empires within me.

A touch and I'm frozen.
A kiss and I'm melting in her arms.


It’s 12 o'clock and in 2 hours and 47 minutes I’ll get to see her.

In 2 hours and 47 minutes I'll get to be with her.


It’s 2:47 and my bedroom is filled with smoke again.

It’s 2:48 and she’s gone.