Walk in from the meadow. Sunlight is dancing on your shoulders. Can you see the old apple tree in the distance beyond?
The window is open. Yellow curtains flutter. You look in.
A white mosquito net is draped over the bed, but its delicate folds are open to the window, exposing the players within, the actors who don’t know they’re on stage.
You see his back rise up out of the sheets. It is bare, tan. His strong arms hold him off the bed, the blanket slides down his back. His buttocks are invisible, but you can imagine them under the sheets, powerful, strong.
There is love in the room, and she is beneath him. You cannot see her, but you know she is there. They are making love, making memories, making babies. He dips down and you see her feet flex under the sheets. You can’t hear anything because a wind of silence is blowing around you, but you know that there are giggles, kisses and sighs coming from that room. There is love.
Afternoon sunlight streams past your body, silhouetting you, making a shadow on their bed. But they are lost in a dream world, reunited.
And then you realize- you’re looking at yourself.