Half dreaming both. Like hangover but not.
One’s foggy glare across: “Hm. Still sleeping.” then heavy lids.
The other, minutes after. same blurry thought. sliding back into white noise.
First one again. “Something’s wrong” stretching a finger across to the other’s closed eyes. tuning in one of his eyebrows. brief light touch. it’s usually lined up when awake. now a sad half-clown. had to correct that. Then he fazes out again.
Short minutes. what’s up?
Second wakes up a hastily. Not atypical.
“Cat e ceasul?” while fumbling out of bed.
It all came back to him like the memory of a dream. Not straight away. In the afterwakes of the day.
(In)contiguities that’s all. or moral perforations.
The brow was indeed quite grossly spread up or with turns or twists, but up. When awake. Only rarely down. Though it’s the left eye. A very sketchy hint to otherwise quite obvious shadows. So it’s surprising it’s not turned down more often. But maybe the wind. Or the light touches. Whomever’s.
Nici nu si-a dat seama de asta. Dormea. Dar a ramas ceva ciudat undeva intr-un strat superficial. Unul insa desprins din visul ala din preadolescenta, cu desene animate stil manga si tipi foarte la locul lor, ok. Nefacand nimic, just talking briefly, or not even that, just there, watching him. Dar tot undeva ancorat in supramoral avea privindu-i o convingere ca ceva nu e in regula. O senzatie de disconfort puternic.
Asa că si acum era poate un suprasine care statea mai treaz decat ar fi crezut. Ce e aiurea e ca penumbra asta mereu treaza are niste tipare foarte dure. Se autosesizeaza din te miri ce. Uneori îl trezeste prea brusc. Nici ceasul n-apuca sa sune.