right here.

Person Playing Guitar
of Vladyslav Dukhin;

The traces of your fingertips shivered upon my skin. I would remember tonight the last cold December evening where the warm breaths of your sleeping figure were the blanket and embrace. Before I went to sleep later, I would pluck the strings of the old guitar you left to reminisce the way your lips moved along with the melodies they produced.

At this time of the hour, I was sure you had a body beside you—filling the empty spaces I vacated. I wanted to call you now, being careless if you were in the middle of doing it or you just finished, to tell you I was ready to answer the question you asked last time about where would I like to keep you in our darkest hours.

In my lungs, to breathe you in without breathing you out. In my veins, to keep you asleep for as long as I could. Right here, to lie down on the mattress with our fingers locked without speaking.


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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