He had ideas. Positively brimming with them. She had an off the shoulder sweater and a fear of being alone at night. They understood, but opposed each other, and one cold night when the heat was out, they danced.
Their walls didn't crumble; in fact, remained quite in tact. Wary of themselves. Wary of each other. Wary because the world is alive with the arson of the past; flames that never quite die, but linger and wait for the right moments to dance behind your eyes, or deep in your stomach. And despite this, they grew. Became comfortable. Found blankets, found moments, found this moment-just this one- to live in.
This moment stretched, and true to form, ended. No love story in epic ending, just one moment-just that one-sliding into the next, it's ripple in time smoothing until it became one fluid particle in the fabric of every other moment, which slid into the next, ended, and slid smoothly into the next..
No comments:
Post a Comment