waking up

a text message woke her up today. it was half past six or even earlier. her ceiling lamp still radiated a visible light and stung her eyes when she peeped out. she tightend the blanket cocoon. and hugged her pillow so hard to her body and face without a single care for the waiting world beyond the room. he usually does that too. she had noticed before. but never told him. as with the other silent observations of soulful familiarity in words and actions. she remembers that one moment of pure sameness. when two messages streamed through networks, time and space in the same 60 seconds. he was seated at a bar. she was seated at work. "no, it can't be..." she no longer inhabits that space. she has renounced it, physically. still she scrambled out from under her blanket, and freed herself. the opened book that rested still on her chest all night toppled over and fell to the ground losing the page she was last at. it was page 53. she wouldn't have known. she would only read a couple of pages later to discover that she's either too far ahead or back. she crawled through the bed full of white pillows to get to the sofa in search of the phone. she retrieved the message. and was disppointed in an instant to see it was someone else.