somewhere we could still meet;

by Matthew Burgos;
by Matthew Burgos;

We drove to the most conscious-deprived town with our windows down and two lit-up cigarettes. We spoke silence as we let the speakers sang the song that could have been the words we had been looking for. There were occasional glances, but nothing more than a fierce stare. I was hoping for some locked fingers, but we were too busy mending the void.

“My best summer so far,” I apologized for the abrupt slip. It was 2am and my tongue was loose, but you had to understand. Nobody became an immediate fighter in a sudden death.

I looked above the crestfallen blue skies; it had strokes of deep dusk I was used to. The midnight grew darker until I could only feel the heat of your breath over the tensed space.

You turned left and the road changed into the path I wished to forget. “Don’t, please,” I whispered as you sail to my house.

At least let me feel the thunders of your lips before you go; for the last time, make me remember my defeat.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


let me hold your words before you leave;

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