"He does not love you" my mom told me once ".He would be here if he did"
I am lying in bed -his bed- and Im fighting myself not to look at the clock, but it´s 4:00 a.m. because he is not here and everytime he leaves after spending the night with me it´s 4:00 a.m.
Where does he go so early? Does he leave at the same time even when I am not here?
I turn my face and search for the scent of water and salt his hair left on the pillow, then I cry for that scent reminds me of the sea and of tears.
It´s 5:00 a.m. and still I can´t sleep. It is as if I had to be waiting for him, hoping for him to come back with a smile on his face and tell me he went running or cooking or riding... anything, but he does not.
It´s 6:00 a.m. and the sun is rising in the sky. The empty side of the bed is no longer warm and my tears are dry by now.
A beam of light slips through the blue window, he is not there and the only thing my tears allow me to see is his cowboy painting: cold and mocking -just like him- on his pale wall.