[26] – Roofs
The wind kissed their faces
And it whipped through their hair.
“Breathtaking,” The girl whispered.
They were on the roof of an apartment building
In the bustling city of New York.
“Why did you not show me this earlier?
Why did you ever stop coming?”
The boy bit his lip
His gaze never leaving the streets below.
It was no longer late and lonely at night
And the boy felt that maybe he could
Keep on his painful mask for a little longer.
She was a stranger after all.
But then the girl rested her hand on his
And his blank mask shattered like porcelain.
“I think maybe
I was one of the reasons
The roof is now off limits.”
The girl’s hand never left his;
Her touch still warm.
“Why?”
The boy’s gaze stared down onto the streets still
But his expression hardened.
“Do you ever just have the urge
To jump?”
YOU ARE READING
Pluviophile
PoetryIt was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
