At the end of a long day, I think about you again. You’ve become a habit now, the most pronounced sound in my almighty wretchedness. In this room of ephemeral solitude, we sit and listen to each other silence. No words are spoken here. Like always.
Time stands still and starts evaporating. I’m told a wise man once said nothing. I understand the beauty in his existence. And that in ours. We fall prey to the quietness inside us, a tranquil passage to what we can but might never be.
There is poetry in the way we love. I move my lips on your fragility, every murmur an earthquake. Your breath falls soundlessly on my skin, the night watching us become stories, hiding us away in between the pages of these years.
What more can we ever share, now that we’ve shared a silence?