February Fiction (Eight)
We haven’t been talking to each other for some time now. Your face, the face that is easily formed by light and shadow, is gone. I don’t meet you often in my dreams. The last time I saw you in the Dreamland, we went for a coffee and an ice cream. We never do this in real life. I don’t even smoke cigarettes with you. I quitted long time ago. But you still smell the same way. Your taste, I don’t know. I think we need to talk. Otherwise your picture on my wall will become discolored.
It is blue.