Mood Piece February 12 2018

There was blood in the sink. There had been blood in the sink for the last few weeks now, though she tried not to think too much about how long it had been exactly. She looked at it for a few seconds, like she did every morning before turning on the sink and letting the clean water bring back the pristine white porcelain. She wasn't sure, but she thought there was more now than on that first red morning.

It didn’t unsettle her anymore, certainly not like it did the first time. It had quietly made its way into her daily routine, casting a shade of red onto every corner of her life and adding its own subtle shade of urgency to her movements. She had thought about going to a doctor, at first, someone who would give a name and a face to her silent fear and set her down a path to somewhere she hadn't expected to go. But every day she had put it off had made it seem that much less important. She wasn't in denial, not really. She had simply decided not to let anyone else name it for her. It was a relationship and so should unfold in its own time and shape.

It had become her secret, though not a fearful one. At first it had been shocking, without a doubt, and the red in the sink seemed to reflect a rising flame that threatened to burn her away; brutish, violent, and blind. Now though, the red seemed warmer as each moment took on a sense of vibrancy and depth she had forgotten the world could evoke. No this secret was closer to a lover than some shameful scar or terror. The blood was a promise, and a covenant, and such things could never truly be told.

She knew it wouldn’t matter in the end whether she kept faith with that promise or not; the truth would make itself known eventually. But whenever she saw his face, or touched his hand she found some fresh wonder, some unexplored perfection she had somehow always missed. To break that spell would be a sin. No, instead she would live and love and make enough memories to carry him through the times when all secrets were told. It was a fragile sail, perhaps, but she would make of it what she could. Her last work of art, she mused. Turning off the sink, she checked her face in the mirror for any sign she had let something slip. There was no pain yet, but she couldn't risk a small stain opening the door to a conversation she didn't want to have just yet. There would be time enough for that later. She allowed a sense of warmth to pass through her chest and up her spine. There would be just time enough for everything.