I'm writing a story about a girl who falls in love with the world and realizes that the unexpected travels are more important than those immaculately planned after all.
The story is titled Damon Rheul, after the main character.
And I've been scrounging around the back drawers of my mind for months and months, looking through new photographs of new crushes and men whose dark features and tantrum filled gazes potentially inspire and ravage my imagination to the hilt. But somehow, the inspiration they gave as muses were always fleeting and fleeing.
And so I've come to a decision.
One day, I slowly took out your old photographs. I quietly melded my sad, once distant gaze into the blackness of your hair, your brows, the shadows highlighted under the contrasting softness and sharpness of your uniquely different features and I remembered the nights of longing with nostalgia and a watercolor ache riding in my bones, underneath my skin filled with the goosebumps that stepping back once more into time, in the territory of You, has given me.
So Carlos.
How about we do this?
..Will you dance with me?
Just.
One.
More.
Time...
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