Communication of shallow hearts. One to dream, and one to awaken with a sense of alcoholic poisoning. If bare sheets were to speak, they would only mumble, because they are pushed to a far loneliness.
She awakens to a breath of poisoned air. Locked in a hotel room; shallow heart’s only nightmare, but great wonder. Her wonder came as an angel proclaiming divinity. At the particular moment, rain came as her eye’s procured yonder to meet another’s. A mouth opens as her shuts. Stale alcohol filled the space between her and another.
A smell equivalent to depression, yet eager for a happy ending, in the hand of another. Quite a funny concept when brought to one’s mind. How one can explore any body they’ve laid their eyes upon. Hand in hand. One hand begins to slide. Just a minor adjustment can lead to such of intimidation and intimacy. Beauty itself could not define this concept.
She did not find this so. How can one remember a previous moment in life with such mistakes. He told her not to go. Frivolously she hadn’t listened. All passion was eradicated in what was once envied from strangers as they passed out on the streets.


The 20th of a warm May evening. The humidity made the air difficult to inhale for small breaths, but she had discovered a liking to it. Not that evening. Her mind blossomed for anything his lips began to curve for. An alteration in the air seemed to occur as she attained an umbrella in one hand. The other hand though, was occupied. But, not by a suitcase. Her minded consistently fled from the common “I’m packing my bags and leaving you” tale. Not a lie to tell, this was on her mind. Her hand continued to remain occupied, by a man on his knees.
See, the irony always struck Anabell..Ana, as he insisted sounded luscious just as the daisy he placed in her hair. As he proposed, one knee remained gently on the grass below. Serenity played in the air on repeat. In the present moment, tears darken the freshly replaced carpet. Two knees bounded to the floor. Possibly implied that the love was greater? How could the impact of just a body part create such an twist of irony in her mind?
Regardless, her hand resisted grip. “Good god..I love you,” he croaked against his damp eyes. “ Don’t put yourself on the dangers of streets. Please take the keys..Promise me you’ll be back tomorrow..Ana please..please come back.” She resisted to adjust her focus back. The door. It’s handle. What the rust that dominated over the once gold shine. Irony. She held a laugh. A laugh that centered on insanity and the saturation of her mental being. Ana’s one central focus was on the “yellow brick road” beyond that ****. The grasp was loose; almost nonexistence. As arduous as it had become in those minimal seconds, his eyes were there. His eyes were inadequate to an adjective.
Such a stereotypical concept in itself , but Ana drew circles pondering the topic. She was not one for anatomy, but those eyes. His pupils burned the color black. A blessing, just ready for one to study.  Any poet would blow a kiss to this concept. The beauty glossed over into the sky above as the blue became a shade darker by the minute once the evening was birthed. A hyperbole for the warmth given off by his eyes. The beauty she created from this scenario, aided to her own failure.
Ana destroyed her own thought processing. It conserved her sanity and if she were to follow, not a finger could reach the door.
She walked without a single regret. Whether it was uncontrollable impulse, or lack of love..no one was capable of knowing.