of Jacek Dylag

The afternoon is setting and the orange haze of the sun covers one side of your face. My fingers itch and they remove your honey-colored sunglasses; then, they pause and let my eyes be surprised to your startling silver eyes. And my lips stretch to show its gratitude to the Lord and to try tamper the glamour of the heart rising to my throat. All of a sudden, as if you have it in your veins too, you grasp my cheeks with your warm hands and under the public’s eye in the open field, our lips meet. Now I can taste the paradise after death in this secret affair. Before I cave in the sadness creeping, I push our lips tighter as if the oxygen will not last after the kiss.; surely, it will not. When our foreheads touch, a tear slips from my eye and you do not brush it away; how painful is it to know we cannot live in this hidden home of ours.


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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