paintings ✷ welt yang [✓]

FIFTEEN, departure

YOU BOTH WOKE UP IN EACH OTHERS EMBRACE. Admiring the vulnerable look the two of you shared.

"Come, let's get up," you declare softly, voice still hoarse, "I'll make your coffee," you tease.

Welt nods tenderly, gradually rising from the bed as he retracts his hand from your hair, "Alright then, dear."

It was a beautiful day outside, the sun gleaming overhead while the scent of your garden of hyacinths found its way into the kitchen.

You made your way into the kitchen. Instinctively making his coffee and your tea. Welt sat on the counter barstool, cleaning his glasses with a cloth.

It felt so normal, so peaceful.

Yet, why did you feel a a growing sense of dread. Like a 'but' intervening with what the two of you desired.

You knew Welt like the back of your hand, and he did too.

Thus, deep down the two of you both knew that the moment you were sharing would whisk itself away, gone in a blink of an eye.

"Here, your coffee dearest," you gingerly place the coffee next to him as you sit yourself beside him. Teacup in hand.

"Ah, thank you," Welt smiles at the sight of the deep brown colour and distinct scent. Nothing could combat or replicate your coffee.

There is a quaint silence between the two of you, simply basking in the moment as the two of you often do.

Nevertheless, you remark, a tremor in your voice, "You are leaving again, aren't you."

And despite the nature of such a question, it did not sound like a question. It was a statement rather.

Welt sighs, looking into your ardent eyes, before mouthing, "Yes... I am."

Nevertheless, what he said next, you could not believe.