podeamfuzzy lines
When you laugh when walking down the streets, blushing furiously when your hands almost meet but barely brushed, really, and laughing when you’re waiting in line, and terribly worn out by the day and by the wait you lean on each other silly, you try focus on the head firm against your chest, or the pressure of nuzzling against the side of your neck.
Not the curling mists and vague tribute to time and space that makes you realise deep down that none of this is happening, really.
You want time to stop, because you know all this will stop if it won’t. But you don’t, because you need to find out what happens next.
And you need to wake up to find that person to walk down the street with, and wait in lines with.