It’s the zephyr between our four lungs—noiselessly burning with the ropes of our hearts.
It’s another dimension of life whenever we talk about our dreams. We meet in this café—who seems remote of customers, most of the time—and talk about our last dreams.
You’re composed with calmness when, today, I’m built of cold lips. Can you imagine my breathless attempts to pray to God to hold the time for now? It’s surreal yet almost living—it’s about the kiss of our lips and the embraces of our hands; it’s about how beautiful it’d be, if we end up contented with what’s brewing in the midst. But I know the lines we’ve drawn will only touch the endpoints of the lava.
“What’s last night?” You ask.
I grasp your gaze, hoping it calls out the sugar I dissolve for you. “That, sometimes, it’s just what it is.”
WORD COUNT: 149
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.