A lazy summer Sunday. Perhaps the last one this season. Sun is still making sure we sweat — yet the days get shorter, mornings chillier and the dark falls early.
We make love as we come alive and than just hang on in an unceasing hug, floating in and out of consciousness until the hunger wakes us up for good.
We eat and set ahead for a seemingly meaningless trip. By the river, by the trees, with my hand on her knee and her palm in my hair.
Shall we stay together? Time will tell. We discuss what ifs so naturally and matter-of-factly as I've never experienced before. This ain't a silly high school talk, this happens for real.
If I could love her, I would, although it's too early, my shattered heart is miles away and I can't pull myself together for now. I'm like a thief trying to get rid of old habits, desperately stressing to be a better man.
We dine in my favourite joint and then we split; and I'm leaving towards the setting bulb in the sky. I sigh lightly: my life has become a slushy romance — and I cannot get enough.
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