Last night was exhausting. Perhaps the hot weather and my lack of sleep consumed all the energy in my body. I couldn’t escape though from my mind’s obsessive questions. I decided to have my own trial, respect every law of nature and give my own verdict in the end. It was a trial about my emotional condition but the last thing I remember is arguing about romanticists. I suppose the temptation to close my eyes and sleep conquered me. So, I am asking you. Have your own trial and give me your verdict.
How many words are born to impress? Not many. This one is. Fatalism.
Its’ eight letters embrace the deepest theories and feelings. I wonder whether the future agrees with me or not. But if, if we were allowed to believe that it was destined to be together, then let it be. I wish no insult to your thoughts but perhaps this is an accurate explanation to whatever tickles my insides. I do not know yet if there is an existing term for the sensation you give me.
The summer rain scares me. It’s hiding the sun, messing around with the moon. The heavens are desperately screaming. I feel my heart collapsing into a vacuum. The raindrops stretched on my skin daringly but I insisted on moving my hand back to safety. I wouldn’t let the rain touch me. I feared for a second it will take this inexplicable dulcet feeling away. The thought of it only electrified me.
The night falls into pieces of darkness, abstract lines of lightning and terrifying sounds of summer’s revengefulness. The earth implores the skies. I hear it praying for more. I wonder what ‘more’ means; even my heart wonders how ‘more’ would be.
Sometimes skipping the tormenting theories calls off the fear. At least in my case, it is gone. I smiled unwillingly while my mind faded in your aura.
Your head was resting beside me, your hand wrapped around my hips. I could not close my eyes. I felt I had to stay awake, watch over you. I was running my hand through your hair, on your cheek, close to your lips. Your lips curved into a smile when I touched your lower one but I feared I will intervene with your dream so I moved it back through your hair.
I felt my eyes closing but I would not dare sleep. The music, that specific song which I had on repeat while hoping your subconscious serves you a good dream, got me thinking about us. I had many questions vandalising my mind. The atmosphere was silent. The first hays of the sun hit the window and an unusual lightness fogged my question marks. I felt non existent but still attached to your skin. I smiled without knowing the exact reason. Or at least, without thinking of it. However, it was obvious.
Perhaps for a moment I had it all. Summer. Lightness. A song. White sheets. You.
That morning, I needed nothing more. So the earth needs nothing more. Tonight it is fed with water. In the morning I dare saying the sun will rise, his hays will burn sweetly.