Moonlit Midnight of Men Murmuring

1:01 AM and somewhere across her room, a soul is responsible for unnecessary assumptions passing into her head.

Why, of all implausible excuses she keeps inventing by herself, this particular one turns out to be the most provoking?

Observation doesn’t seem to be of any help, she needs to ponder. Deep. Into rooms where perception and feelings are stored for long, for she has always been way too afraid to get close by.

But the answer has always been complicated and difficult, either to translate, or to appreciate.

All she knows that some things linger. And remain. And never escape.

Gentle pats on her head, awkward arms around her, the curly edges of ivory hair blown away by afternoon breeze,

the fairest colour of skin she has ever witnessed,

all that she saw, all that she felt because.

Slight details she would rather disremember about.

Somewhere across her room, two bodies are inside each other’s, yet it doesn’t scare her. For the only freedom she owns is her own train of thoughts, as her heart is sealed with loyalty, and her body is bounded with grace.

She just believes there’s a space for her,

always. Even between the adhered surfaces of two skins against each other that night.

She’s an entity he wouldn’t unhand.

Not now.

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