The summer sky was not made for us. But the way your hands hold my pink cheeks is too good to be true. As well as your body that fits so perfectly against mine. Your arms ever so gently rest against my shoulders as you search for the ends of the universe in my eyes.
The flowers sway around us, attempting to gain your attention. They are just jealous that I can hold you the way they can only dream of. They brush their leaves against my legs, telling me to give you back but I am greedy for your touch; to be the only one you see.
You pull me closer. Your nose bumps against my own. Your perfume smells of fresh cherries, picked by hands as delicate as your own. I feel as if my heart is going to burst.
Your quiet voice—a mere whisper—prances towards my ears. A sound so bright it fills every corner and crevice of my body with warmth. I never want to let you go in fear of falling into an eternal winter.
The summer sky was not made for us. But while I have you here with me, I can pretend that even the winter nights are our own.
Written by. Lyssa
Painting by. Konstantin Korovin (Roses, 1939)
Lyssa is an emerging short story writer based in Melbourne. She is currently studying a bachelor with a major in Creative Writing and Literature. She hopes to write creative pieces that give unheard voices a space to tell their stories.
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