in a minute, it will begin.

professionalI have a ripened tree inside my lungs – a nylon string attached to a delicate branch, soundlessly killing them by piece with a boulder bound on the other end of the rope.

This is my sentiment when I touch you.

We have been fooling for months now – sometimes, settling for a desperate and rough kiss in public or an intermingling lust between the two buildings. The trance is high and elusive – we even devour the last dusts.

But it has always felt wrong.

Tell me what makes it faulty.

Is it my profession in your school?

Or the distance of our age?


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.

let me hold your words before you leave;

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