Places you'd rather be.

Sevgelim

There is a place similar to the countryside but not too far from the city to be labelled as it. There is an estate with a manor and a few miles apart from the estate is a cottage. There is dense woodland everywhere not too tropical but not too dry either. The autumn leaves crunch and the spring flowers blossom with passion and yearning. The wind mingles with the trees and they whisper in secrecy the tales of the dwellers of the manor and the cottage.

They whisper the hardships of the day and they whisper the loneliness of the nights. They wait patiently whispering. Until the wind catches a glimpse of the figure of a young woman who has waited for her overbearing brother to finally succumb to slumber. She smiles foolishly as she walks cautiously, her dog watching from the window inside the cottage as she becomes more distant. The tall shrubs hide her well behind themselves aching with anticipation.

A tree nearby is adorned in her woollen scarf the one she lost the night before. She reaches for it and feels it in the palm of her hands. It gives her instant warmth; a rush of blood to her cheeks, her fast-paced heart and the electrifying goosebumps; render her a little unsteady.

The fireflies blush and brighten their glow when he reaches out for her elbow and pulls her close. His curls droop a little and tickle her forehead. He pecks her nose and like a fool, he too grins. He wraps the scarf around her neck and his arms around her waist. 

"Sevgelim" he whispers and the wind echoes it through the night.