Little girl ♡♡

DREAM.

The glasses knock together, there is a chime, the nectar is sipped. The sun places its interest with the most mesmerising stage setting.  It’s blissful to see how the sun kisses the mountains, a soft touch, something felt deep down recollecting those ecstatic days which where never experienced by any biotic element other than them. They are elated, they know they belong here , this is their haven.  Hands held, they get up, he is feeble now but the walk is not less than a minute. He sleeps close beside her, his fingers tangled to her hair. He presses his lips on her head, not too hard to wake her up now, he knows he has to be careful. She murmurs, she is still not over the stroking through her hair.

She liked it, 40 years back too. They cottage has a little dent in the backyard phrase, no wonder the storm indeed had an impact yesterday. He crawls beside her, her aroma plays around like those little pixies of those fairytales. The clock still works, he wished he could just reverse and go back to the time when the passion was like an occultism draining and pouring every time he met her. A new love, she was for him, something so alive that the hearts told the stories, the eyes played the magic and the lips felt it. It was an embrace for nothing like selfishness but selflessness. She felt the same way too, she had nothing but faith & knew that love deserved it, deserved them despite the consequences.

The house is now decrepit, but they have accepted it, regardless to what is has become now. They know that this place has been a blessing since the day they moved in and phrasing their lives with the context to this house is the only thing they want before they give off. The wind blows, there is a chime again. This time more orchestral, the notes are beautiful, the moon is lit up by the expression that

The universe is denoted by the embrace of both of them. She is dying, her face paler than ever, nerves also superficial. The pictures hang on the wall in a descending order, The memories collapse with the existence . Next morning, things come back to place again. She makes him pasta, yet burnt on the edges.

His smile tells her their stories, rich from the past and an invocation for the present. His face has freckles now as he ceases a smile, hint of black in his hair still prevails  which makes him more beautiful.  He is beautiful, like a chocolate that hides it richness handsomely,  seductively melts when placed in your mouth. There is no stingy feeling, just the luscious taste. It gives you justice, no matter how you have been or where you have been. They are growing old now, but their love is still just a starter. The sun radiates its copiousness, their skin refracts. They look at the end of the street, eyesight now weakened, there comes their angles, young and beauteous. They give their comfort, relish the moment, and here is comes, the sun drowning yet again. Meeting up with the horizon, this time a strong touch yet exempting. Their lives have made its reach, to each other, where they belonged, safe locked up into each others arm. Their life has now made a history,  a history which can never be articulate enough.