CHOCOLATE


It all started with this tiny piece of dark chocolate, called Raphael, his favourite chocolate, same title as his favourite book had...has. He would always give me this little piece of his delicious looking chocolate from a very fancy store, and when he had a bad day, or was simply just happy, he would take have a piece too. Only one each day. I’ve never got more than one piece a day, and I never will. I hope. I wish. Cause that’s just how I want it to be.
The most important sign of the love he feels for me is actually that little piece of chocolate.
And if he’s not home, or have to work out of town,  I will find these tiny pieces of chocolate here and there around in our house, though I like it better to eat it when he is home, the chocolate doesn’t taste so bitter then...
Sometimes, just for fun, I like to imagine that I was that tiny piece of chocolate, melting on his light red tongue. Caressing me, tasting me, and in the end... swallow me, so I would slide down his throat and into his warm body that I loved so much.
And other times I wish I could be his favourite book, the one he cares for so much. Each page turned gently, hands touching the paper so lightly, stroking it, caressing it as he reads it line over and over again.

But now, he is gone again. Next to my cup of tea  rests a tiny piece of Raphael, and a note saying something I have never ever dared to let slip from my red lips.
As the bitter chocolate teases my senses of judgment I will read the note out loud for myself.
It says nothing, nothing more than it says.
I see myself throw the note into the trash bin, then go and open the windows, let the rest of the smell from his cigarette out to pollute the morning sun.
I have always loved the mornings. Everything is so peaceful then, nobody dares to speak, for if they do, they will break this magic silence.
Which reminds me of my great love for tea, and the little lime heart he is leaving in the cup for me to mix with the tea, I just simply love the mornings.