I opened inch thick curtains to the clearest most perfect sky of my non-life. An angel had touched me and still lay in my bed, wings clipped, unable to escape. The North Star shone down with a light that almost rivalled the moon and everything seemed less troubled than an evening ago.
“Jean.”
A soft voice beckoned breaking my reverie.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, not really.”
“I"m still marvelling at how these curtains kept out the light.”
“I told you they would.”
She had, as we"d laid there breathless, so to speak, but I hadn"t believed her. It just so happened that at that instant I hadn"t cared whether I woke or not. I was as happy as I believed I ever would be: no fools to deal with; no wondering how to break the tedium of my existence; no wondering where I would sleep that day
