My chest rose and fell as I gasped for air. I ran from the metro’s stairs down to the train’s cab—almost bending the turnstile pole. I would be late again for work if I did not storm through the place. The cab was already filled with people—we looked like sardines, but blessed enough to still breathe.
The next stop came and the doors opened. There were busy people who exited, but busier workers who entered. I found an empty spot and lunged to take the seat. With one last deep exhale, I started to feel better.
The next stop ascended—Duomo.
Our laughter echoed in my head. The bookshelf chase we did in one of the bookstores nearby stroked my nostalgic mind. My fingers, frail and shaking, grazed your cheeks; you snatched my palm to place your warm kiss beneath the light summer’s breath. Before the sun set, you plunged your tongue in my mouth and I took it with my lips.
Like any other mornings, I wondered what happened to you. The next day after our first and last meeting, you turned into a ghost. In an instant, you became a resident in my closed eyes.
If I could see you again in any time of any day, I would only ask for your name. In this way, even if you did not want to meet with me again, I could still relish our lost memory without any regrets.
WORD COUNT: 242
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.