her favorite time of night is when the black-blue bruise of sky is too dark;
when the crystalline moon retreats behind the clouds in surrender.

she snuggles against his chest, listening, listening, listening -

there it is, the th-thump of his heart, murmuring beneath his chestbone.
she breathes slowly until her own pulse falls in time with his, and
looks up and whispers:

"hey, listen. do you hear that?"

he sighs, lifting his chin. "hear what?"

her eyes are marble beneath the lids. "our hearts. they're beating together.
do you hear them? it's like a song, like my favorite lullaby-"

he cuts her off. "no. i don't hear anything."

Valentine's Day isn't good enough.

1 comentários :: Tried.

  1. haha, me deixa um recado no orkut depois
    não sei como te achar denovo
    não entendo bem inglês pra ler direito o post D:
    mais adorei o ooutroo

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