It was late, the time of night where shadows scaled the skyscrapers. Two sat on the bed, a freshly lit cigarette in the tray next to the ceramic lamp. Ashes scattered over pages of an open book, cosmic dust daring to become permanent like the pen. A laptop screen was the only source of light for the two, save for the embers glowing next to empty frame. The two sat, allowing their chests to rise and fall at the same rhythm, instead of speaking (words were pointless). Or maybe they were afraid that any secrets spilled through soft lips would end in separation again. This fragile fragment of time, this inkling of borrowed eternity they shared was the only proof that they, had once, existed. But the end-as it always does-happens before the act can be noticed.
Soon reality would return, desperately reminding them to find their future in today, but for now they were together. And that’s all that mattered. Her momma had been right the entire time. All the touches shared, the quiet whispers in the dark, the shattering of a broken heart that continued to beat, it was real. But so were her scars, his eyes, her smiles, his mistakes, their beginning. The rain drop slid down the edge of the chilled window, forcing the two to break the silence.