5/24: dusk.
@clementide
on those rusty 6th street apartment walls across the block, you see the new york city’s own blue named 4am, daybreak.
the city’s asleep but the gleam in your eyes still brightens our tiny one-room (ours? ours. anything mine is yours.) they look like they’re about to spill a whole past-life story about how you held the sky in your eyes, chest, and then in your pale set of hands before you met me. you wear that amaranthine color on your lips religiously since the day i told you you look breathtaking in it. so you still do, even when i can’t see them under the dim moonlight. then you’re autumn itself with the baltic amber scent of a handmade candle you bought somewhere on 26th street.
-aiden. -hm? -sometimes, i wish i met you somewhere else. -huh. like where– seoul? -maybe, yeah.
then maybe i wouldn’t feel so up in the air every time i’m looking at you like this. i blink at your sudden confession and wonder if it’s okay to interpret them the way i did. then i intuitively, tactfully, turn a blind eye.
this is to say—that i am the most cowardly person in this eventide; yet you still reload the pistol for me to shoot in the dark.
-...sol, are you homesick?
no, aiden—i feel just fine, here with you.
dusk, (dawn & before-sunset). | @clementide
