10.05.06

then there were softer lips

I spent too long this morning looking at the clear white light coming through the clouds. Touching my skin so softly, it felt wrong to have the blunt crashing of bells fish me out with its sharp hook, and I waited, instead, to gently wander through fog. Before I had woken and these same skies were filled again with the memory of rain, excitedly flashing white for a moment against the black as two dots of a headlight curved down a street. I was upset, I remember, at this trick. Only a memory of rain? So through my window it came beside me, and, ignoring the cotton, held me close.

shi-ou-sama at 8:48 a.m.

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