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.
February Fiction (Eight)
February Fiction (Eight)
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.