Your tilted head shifted your waterfall hair to the left.
In a stream of beguiling blonde ripples, your chest was met with a dry splash of gold, real gold.
Technology at your fingertips, HTML scripts morphing into long sentences, bouncing in grammar and not stopping until you take another breath, another sip from your coffee cup of bitter death- one sugar, no less.
Daunt Books bag beside your chairβs side, the faithful mute mule carrying your words and notes and probably an umbrella too, itβs raining outside and I wish for you not to get wet.