Morning Star…

05.10 or 06.10 AM.

– Princess…

Nothing.

– I’ve got to go, princess… –

– …mmm?…no…don’t go… –

You fall back asleep. So serene, such a sweet expression on your face…

Maybe *this* is the heaven everybody’s talking about…

A light whisper to not disturb the perfection of the moment, the overwhelming force of the impulse hitting my eyes crossing my mind, my heart, my soul.

The city sleeps. These hours are made for artists of  sleepless inspiration and hard workers paid 800 euros a month. The cold vanishes in the warmness of those words, of those whispered magical spells breaking the november cold and the icy rain. There’s room only for your eyes still closed and the sweetness of your expression.

* * *

It’s just another confused saturday morning spent working hard for a reason still not clear to me, when you come up with one of those sentences I hate so much: “You don’t understand!”

Of course I don’t. But if you’d just mind explaining, I might get closer to you and your feelings.

– Maybe I can catch the next train and reach you…

Silence.

– …would you?

Of course I would. I’d cross the oceans of the world and fight a thousand armies if I had to. For you only. For you and those eyes that every now and then you conceal behind a hair too long but so lovely.

Your world is not that far. Three hours by train, a fair toll to pay if then, waiting on the platform, I see you smiling at me and complaining about my shirt.

– Thanks…

– For what?

– For coming…I love you…

Silence and noise, laugh and cry, fury and sweetness. An entity born from  flames, forged by the flowing of the water. Warm as a fireplace, cold as an early spring morning still bond to the late winter.

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