Louvre

Summer is hot, and the sky is painting itself with Lilac Shade. We both know each other, but I bet you don’t hold the clue I definitely hate Summer. More than Summer, I dislike this town and the noise of people so I keep chasing escape.

We both know each other, and there’s a defying temptation within us to recognise one another a little more. The fear, the desires, and the bitter baggages pile up as storm boggling our heads – shaking the peace that’s already shaken.

You keep asking “what if it’s now?”, in my mind “what if it’s not?”
The bitter baggages of yesterday, they are still there, burdening me with hurt and intimidation to risk and lose again.

So you pull me close and offer me your arm to quiet my worries. “Whenever you’re ready” you whisper. “Whenever we are ready”, I mumbled.
I hear you say it’s perfect and complete and it’s enough, but I am conscious – it is not.

I remember how the scene started. Climbed this rooftop to see if there’s any beauty left in this place. For confession, perhaps the louvre is not the perfect spot.
Neither one of us witnessed a green light. I refused. You mentioned no oath.
The Sun was almost Red seeming to command a stop.

No one was ever ready for another beginning.


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