DAISY
It was on a foggy Tuesday afternoon. It was a gray day, the kind of day where raindrops clung to the windows. I remember noticing that.
I wearing a faded, off-white cami, wrapped up in my favorite beige shawl. My bare feet were cold against the piano’s ice pedals and I made a mental note to turn up the thermostat later. I was rehearsing a ballad I had composed, ironing out the rough edges near its bridge.
My writing process had considerably shifted over the years. Now, instead of wine, there was a cup of light brown coffee at my side. Now, instead of screaming and crying and burning, I was able to write with a steadiness in my hand.
I was proud of the life I had carved for myself. It was comforting, and, above all, wouldn’t shatter me. Now, for the first time in my life, my lyrics brought me warmth instead of fire. Now, for the first time in my life, I was fully under my own control. Well, almost fully anyway.
That was when the doorbell rung.
Jarred back into reality, I stopped playing and stood up. I wasn’t expecting any company; no one had visited for days. It could have been Simone, but she was on a trip to Barcelona with Bernie. It could have been Margaret, inquiring when her song would be completed. Or, if I got my hopes up, maybe it would be Angela - even though I hadn’t seen her for a year?
Slowly, I creaked along the wooden floor and opened the door. The face on the other side made my heart nearly drop to my feet.
No fucking way. Here was a face I hadn’t seen in over a decade. We weren’t supposed to - he was breaking the rules of our unspoken agreement.
His hair was darker and an invisible weariness had settled in his face. But god, his eyes were still the same. Caramel. Alluring. And slightly…sad?
I stood there, frozen still for a minute, taking in all of the details.
“Hey, Daisy.”