2 April 2019

2 April 2019

It is things like this that fill prologues and stretch endings. I stumbled onto one. It was the softest eyes that swallowed all the lines of reality. Where time is a fictitious lie that can only try to sun her beautiful eyes. You could see the kindness in them; the whiteness of the promises they make. And then you would wish her eyelids wrapped you in whatever is left from that fictitious lie. You don’t blink but if you do then it’s probably because you made a mental note to. If you looked away it’s not because she saw you but because you are like that. Because you plan to collect the shrapnel of time, knit it with care until you have a lifetime to give her.

Abu A’ish MK Albani