I met a woman who loved stardust, but in the clouds—evaporating and pure smokes. She touched my lips, but never kissed it. She looked at me without seeing me. She locked her fingers on to mine, but it was lifeless. She smiled at me, but it was empty.
In the lifetime I knew her, her routine did not waver. I grew accustomed to it before I knew it. The affairs were spent on mornings, but on evenings we were ghosts—two strangers waiting for the new sun to know each other again.
So, I was not surprised that it had been a week since the last time I saw her. She kept returning and leaving, and I could only embrace her.
But some nights, I thought, if it would make a big difference if she just stayed.
WORD COUNT: 138
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