Sire's threads

The house was quiet but for the humming of the washing machine. Odera was home alone once again and left with only his random thoughts for company. Odera sat by the bedroom window staring at the concrete clad street below, his eyes darted from pedestrains to passing cars but his mind had wandered far beyond the limits of his sight. He never complained about the boring afternoons he had to spend at home alone, moments like this gave him a chance to gather his thoughts and analyse various aspects of his life. However, today was different and his thoughts seemed unfamiliar to him. Seconds before he had realised he had not mused over school, work or the typical satirical ideas which swirled around in his mind but he had spent most of the hour thinking about women. He smiled sheepishly, relieved no one could hear or see his thoughts. He had been wading through the waters of memories bringing to mind the women who had made their way into his life. Some had come, made their mark and left while some still painted pictures which sometimes baffled him. Faces began to materialise in his mind accompanied with memories which drove Odera's mind further away from the busy street below and into his own thoughts which seemed more interesting than the changing traffic lights and endless stream of cars driving past. He stood up and made his way to the large double bed adjacent to the window, reminiscing was definitely not the best way to spend his afternoon alone but the urge to recall every sweet and bitter moment with each and everyone of these women was too good to pass up. The rumpled bed covers gave the bed a disheveled mien and the ruffled green duvet lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. For a split second he contemplated straightening out the sheets but the excitement building up in him would definitely not be patient enough to wait for the sanitary detour. He flipped his laptop open and despite the glaring sunlight beaming into the room through the glass window the luminescence from the screen was still bright enough to expose the rugged yet refined features of his face. He stared at the screen for a few seconds and a few clicks later a blank page stared back at him. Deep in his own thoughts he glanced towards the window once more then back at the blank page again and from the depths of his memories he began to type. He paused half way into his makeshift prologue, did he really want to do this? Was this really a good idea? Maybe he would tone it down a bit? Keep some details to himself and let only the generic gist be put into writting. Once again he glanced over to the window which was was now sporting little globules of water, an indication that London's crappy weather was about to live up to it's reputation once more. The excitement seemed to tone down a bit, was this really a risk or was he simply being overdramatic? The more questions he asked the more contradictory the answers became. He argued with himself while inadvertently clicking and double-clicking on his mouse and by the time his thoughts had given him leave to realise what he'd done the draft which held his unfinished manuscript had been replaced by the Twitter homepage. Odera knew that it would take a miracle for him to even decide to rewrite what he had just unintentionally absented from his screen and another sheepish smile drew itslef unto his face as he concluded that the website before him had made his decision for him. The faces he had conjured in his mind slowly faded away and the respective stories that had started to take form dissolved like cubes of sugar being spattered by the pouring rain outside. A slight shudder emanated beside Odera as his phone rang, he glanced at the screen, steadied himself, answered, and as the voice from the other end of the line engaged him in harmless banter the last traces of the compulation to detail his love life vanished.