pillowtalk

8 May 2020
8 May 2020

I close my eyes and let your voice wash away the silence. I fall free into your unending night of stories, and I speak back to you the questions that visit me in my descent. In the gaps between the phonetic steps we take in rhythm, I tug at the ends of your sentences, and you peer into the empty slots in between mine, as if to tie some kind of a knot out of our thoughts. Entangled in and out of each other, synchronizing in movement, like a dance made of the dormant feelings and dared dreams that slip out from our lips over that surface tension between awake and asleep.


The dance is lit not by the candlelight chandeliers of kings and queens above, nor by the daylight we speak of in careful hope of tomorrow, but by the moonlight that cuts through the darkness to light just the right side of your face and the left side of mine, casting white shadows on the other halves. Glass walls stretch out before us, and beyond them the rest of the city lights recede into the distance.

“Tomorrow,” I whisper, “you’ll be out there somewhere.”

You turn your eyes to meet mine.

“And I’ll be there with you,” I add.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m here with you until the night ends. And we’ll greet the daylight together.”


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