someday/somehow

Someday, somehow you wake up on a cold November morning and realize that everything has emerged to be a nightmare only. You turn around and there she is, laying beside you, untroubled, asleep. She wakes up, smiles. The first thing that is leaving her lips is the question for some chocolate drink, the brand she always preferred, the expensive one, the good one. So you get up, get dressed, run to the supermarket to get it and when you return you look at her, asleep again. Only seconds later she opens her eyes a bit, whispering a thank you and this makes you the happiest guy. You spend the next couple of hours in bed, it’s Saturday and it’s been a heavy night.
Prosperous in your favourite bar, then you went off to some shabby yet posh club. She was holding your hand all the time. Then you left, before dawn, tipsy, tired. Another night she helped you to skip all your worries. Surprisingly her girlfriends were fun and you did your best to entertain all her people. You bought her Apple Martinis, told her some jokes and hugged her every time she was close enough. You are happy. You always knew that this will happen to you. Someday. Somehow.
You wake up again. You turn around and understand that everything was…unreal. Nobody is sharing your twin-sized bed. You recall the conflict. Misconduct. A street, wet with rain. Her white woollen hat.
You get up, get dressed, it’s early Sunday morning. You took it easy last night. You recollect some dull show on TV, a glass of whine that made you forget and sleepy.
You’ve been through this before. You know the pain will go away. Someday, somehow.
Several days later. You go out. The girls know you’re single again. You try to flirt, but you’re clumsy. Again. You’re not really after it anyway. You catch sight of some beautiful girl you met some years ago, or was it months? But you’re just not ready yet, you believe. Another girl, tall and slim is flinging her arms around your neck, but you’re just not ready yet. “I was in Playboy”, she says. And you’re like “Yea, whatever.”
By mischance, you wake up the next day. Your single head on your twin-sized bed. You get up, get dressed. Downstairs, the gas-station. Upstairs. TV on. TV off.
You’ve been through this before. You know the pain will go away. Someday, somehow.