He stepped into a space governed by love and hate at the same time. He did not understand how these two concepts melted into each other by means of interplay.
Light and darkness adorning the shoulder of the woman who wakes up in the arms of her lover. There is no distinction between the two. Both mold the roundness of her shoulder with its naked softness and its distinct sharpness. During the nights in which the moon is glossy and crisp like the crust of a country bread, the woman’s body gives birth to mountain chains and fragrant valleys.
The world remains the same as two lovers riveted onto themselves.
I know he loved me. Yet his mind was too pedestrian to understand.
excerpt from my book in progress: Remembrance of Love [working title]
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)
image: Agnieszka Barbara; Shutterstock [link]