And thus, it begins.
Out of the blue, like passing a homeless person on a street who doesn’t ask you for your money.
Arising from the spaces linking our fingers, where we conceal all our secrets.
It draws me in deep. Then it immediately pushes me away.
The frosty winds came too early, this year.
Plenty of birds dying in their nests.
We gazed at stars and peeked at fireflies.
Everything was painted the colour of silence.
She licks her lips again, slowly this time. The droplets of sweat that were present are now the salt on her tongue. My eyes are glued to the ebb and fall of the dice she wore around her delicate neck.
Her eyes blinked to the beat of leaves falling from the tress, becoming one with the earth.
She doesn’t utter a word. Not a single one. Just keeps me waiting.
Testing my patience.
Please say something. Anything.
Cross me off that list of yours and name this our last kiss, I say.
She laughs out loud. Bloody hell.
I turn around and walk away to find a new her.
I leave because she is too gorgeous.
More than anything, I leave because I love words too much.
And it is tough to be in love with a mute.