Bella Freud, Ginsberg is God
It rained early this morning. The last drops were still falling when the sun burst over the horizon to reclaim the day. She always wakes up before him to open the windows and breathe the first fresh air. As usual he has cast a white button-down across the back of his chair. Everything about him is scattered. It’s what she loves most, but still she’ll straighten his piles of papers and notebooks to make room for two cups of coffee and a slice of cinnamon toast. She draws the inside of the yellowed collar to her nose, and inhales his hug. He will be down soon enough to scrawl the frenzy of his dreams before they fade. She waits, his silent siren and calm before the chaos, to run her fingers through his curls.
Featured Image: Michael Lokner