12.17 am
My mind has the ability to wander like a gypsy. A shimmering haze wrapped in gauzy silks, that travels through the seams of time without any concept of where it may or may not be heading. This has always been a fatal flaw of my nature, thinking too much. There he was, with his tanned arms wrapped around my body, his eyes closed against my hair, breathing me in. Why was my mind telling me that this was not enough? Why was it like the feeling of dull embers against your skin? Pleasant, and comfortable - but not the blazing inferno of flames biting at your nerve endings, not the deep indigo passion that wraps you and entangles you like a dormouse in the coils of a snake. Why did it feel like my map was leading me further and further from where I wanted to be? And what was this feeling? This abyss in the pit of of stomach that called to mind a drunk emptiness, drunk off the great midnight void and hungover off the inky carousel of nightfall. It left me in the clouds, heavy and pitch black and waiting to fall like a storm. What was this feeling that had my feathers pressed against the bars of an icy cage?
YOU ARE READING
En Air
Romance'I don't believe in magic,' said the young boy. The old man smiled. 'You will when you meet her.'
