If I lived in Paris, I would never close the windows. The traffic noise below my apartment would become the soundtrack of my early mornings, my lazy afternoons, and my midnight snacks. My apartment would be old with generations of white paint, brass knobs, and creaky floors. During winter or rain, I’d make tea in…
I wonder what my breath smells like. Sometimes when I have oatmeal for breakfast, my mouth feels pasty. It can also be a little yucky after too much tea too, but that’s just how it feels. I don’t know what it smells like when I’m talking and it reaches out to someone else’s nose. Following…
Fogged windows, twists and turns. It started as a kiss, a taste, but a soft moan swept her ear and she knew. She wanted. His knee hit the gear shift, they laughed to tears. His eyes danced, and she knew. She loved.