"Hey, are you all right?" He asked after a long silence between them.
Her eyes that watched the dripping waters in the glass panes, the traffic under the rain glanced at him, and to her cup of coffee that her thumb was rubbing. "Don't mind me, I'm fine," she assured him with a smile.
He, too, creased his lips but in pique, for he could tell that she was lying, "Oh, I know that smile," he detested. "You always give me that whenever something is up. Come on, say it to me."
She gazed at him once more, then she shifted her sight back to her coffee, and took a sip as though he didn't utter a word.
"You can tell it to me the way you usually talk," he said, still determined to get through her elusiveness. "What was he for you?"
"Rain and Autumn," she answered at last. "He was my bliss and a reminder of the dead."
"Has he ever told you what you were for him?" He asked, and she shook her head as a response.
"How did he love you?"
"Like a meteorite," she replied. "He came inevitably with rare love, but when he got what he wanted, he disappeared without any trace."
YOU ARE READING
Letters To Nimbus
Poesía[ a poetry collection about breaking and forgiving. ] He admired her so much that the light she emits blinded his eyes, and all he has vanished to oblivion. A mistake he failed to avoid. She saw him turned into something else; it was mournful. To pr...
