White light
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- Votes 2
- Parts 1
White light,i see your light but the deeper and more i follow your light,the darker its getting down here and i think its sucking me in the more i follow it.its saying"yes,come closer,follow my light,ill show you how bright i can shine.maybe following the light is bad and maybe we should follow the black light instead...
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...He approached me and firmly grabbed my wrist, pulling me towards one of the cabins. In a rather brutal manner, he pushed me inside, blocking the door behind him. He leaned his hand against the wall, right next to my face... - I asked you something. What do you think about it? - His behavior deeply embarrassed me. Indecent thoughts started swirling in my head... Me... He... In this confined space... With other people, women, and men on the other side of the door, completely unaware... - We're alone. There's no one else with us. You can answer me honestly now... - They're... out there... and they can probably hear every word we say. Besides, what am I supposed to judge when you're not wearing any clothes? - Shhh! - He placed his finger on my lips... - You wouldn't want someone to hear you, right? - The guy closed the distance between us, pressing his whole body against mine... - Unless... you like it? Tell me, Nunu, do you like being loud? Do you enjoy it when others can hear? - He placed his hands on my chest and started unbuttoning my shirt with one hand... 🌈 - Hia... Look! - I exclaimed cheerfully, pointing my finger at the sky. - NuNew... You are the eighth color of the rainbow to me. - P' said suddenly. - The eighth colour, what does that mean? - Just... mine. - "The light looks so beautiful in the phase of dispersion..." - What? - Ah... Valeriu Butulescu described the rainbow phenomenon that way. I believe his words have a hidden meaning. - What do you mean by that? Sorry, Nhu, but you're the last person I know who would want to analyze some poet's profound thoughts. - Yeah, that's true, poetry isn't really my thing... 🌦 It was late at night, the rain was pouring, and a cold wind was roaring. The echo of doors slamming filled the street... With a backpack on his back, wearing a black hood pulled over his head, a boy with hair as black as coal walked through the Bangkok street in a direction known only to his soul...
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