I cringe on his absence as I miss stroking his well-shaved beard. I miss every time I opened my eyes, I can see him sleeping graciously before me as if every sleep means a thousand dime of golds, as if he was New York City that finally has some time to sleep.
He is even more charming in between his fragile ego when he steeps lower than he should, unaware of his own attractiveness. I would like to tell him I think God created him to start jealousy. But I couldn't. And I think he wouldn't believe me, too.
It gets even harder to let go a piece of beauty, even though it wraps in a cold frisky pale porcelain skin, because it is not just a matter of heart but also a matter of eyes and ego to have him as if he is a string of pearls that would look good around my neck.
That the greatest challenge is when the whiskey-breath night screams for a brief phone call that often end up on a messy sheet. Forgetting that we have ended two autumns ago when the first leaves falls on the ground.
He was so beautiful, he won't let myself to catch a breath.
A piece by : Fiya Muiz