​I watch you, as the moonlight reflects on your cheekbones, as you sit beside me in the bench I wish was a hammock. Your hair has caught the white sand of the beach you excitedly went to get tanned, and your nostrils aren’t as much as breathing as your fingers on the one sentence filled page of the journal that lies on your lap now, asleep with your warmth. I strain my ears to hear the seagulls, but all I hear is the touch of the pages against your skin, and your heavy breaths, consuming you from within.
I wish I could light my cigarette now, but I know the smoke will wake you up. And then, I won’t be able to watch you sleep anymore. I can’t leave you either, you’ll catch a cold if I’m gone.
I have to make a call too, one to the office, you know, like how I won’t be there on Monday, for the maps are a little messy, and it’s only so easy to get lost. Going a little off track again, aren’t we, honey? Sleep, child, this is paradise, looking at you.
I dread mornings; I feel bare, revealed, exposed. But you sparkle with the sunrays, and I keep staring, like you’re a pinch of the rainbow in my hands. I could watch you at 7 am, open one eye first, then the other, and at 7 pm, struggling between ordering Chinese and Indian.
You’re a white lily in a world of weed, and I only am trying not to be blinded by light. I know your love for me is doctored, when I’m looking for a settle down, you’re only on an exotic holiday. Like somebody had once said, “vacation romances have an expiration date”, our time together too, like the label on the medicine bottles, has started to fade out.
You know it as much as I know it, there is nothing like a happy lesbian love story, but just so you know, I’ll never look at a rainbow and not think of you.

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