She stood cross legged against the cold, cement wall, trembling with cold pats of the air. The pavements were covered under a fluff of soft, white snow. Smoking a cigar, he came forward and asked her for a walk down the roadside.
'You are freezing.'
He drew a short puff.
'No. Not at all.'
Her teeth jittered.
'Yeah, I can see. What were you doing there?' He lit the lighter for her to make her hands warm.
'Wondering.'
She drew a long breath.
'Wondering what? Is it the right place? You should try to be a bit cautious.'
He exhaled. Warm smoke shielding the stabbing chills of air.
'Eh? You know, I would rather be chasing a bubble ignoring that it will burst when I touch it. I would rather like to be plucked before I can even bloom. I would rather be a pleasing dream than being a stinging truth. I would rather be catching butterflies and laugh when I fail and fall over my knees. I would rather be drowning in love than standing on the shore, measuring the depths, the profits and the losses.
She exclaimed.
'I would rather stay drunk than to be cautious.'
She concluded. Her eyes beaming on the touch of street lights.
'You still are drunk.'
He smiled and continued to smoke his cigar as he left her to her door.
Sometimes, the 'rathers' keep all the secrets to happiness.
