Three lights

villa borghese tempio

On this bench everything’s so easy. The city rumble can’t reach this height, and this time of the morning there’s no one walking through these paths. The fragrance from the trees is enthralling. The sun shines quiet and brilliant over the pond; the whole park is still, really. Peaceful, we stay. I wonder why geese do not mind the hot air. I wish I was a goose, but not now. I do not understand what he’s saying. His face captivated me, his eyes half-closed for the burning sultry air make me blush; he’s so sweet he only makes me wonder of good things: how I’d love to build a house to live in with him right here. I love when it’s just us two, me and him. I’m going to kiss him. I’m about to kiss him. I’m kissing him.

I love him.

Who knows what he’s thinking. Everytime he raise his eyes towards the green pond his eyes sparkle. I like him so much. Who knows what mum and daddy say if they knew him; who knows what those assholes of my siblings would say. The thought of being torn away from his side is hard right now; but when I’m home and he’s far away on those hilltops, I know he’s thinking of me. I want Rachel to meet him, she’ll find him nice. Sometimes I think if I was free we could hang in a house of some kind, with a roof and a bed to kiss properly, like two guys who have been dating for 3 months should, instead of laying on a bed of grass where god knows how many dogs piss a day. But these daisies move me, their scent mixes perfectly with our lips. Maybe it’s just the joy of having found the right guy? I feel happy with him. I don’t want to think about school or the idiots who pushed me this morning.

I love him.

As usual it’s abso-fucking-lutely hot. I’d fancy an ice cream, do I, but who knows when this fucking city trucks, they’re thief-proof. This charity makes me sick; winter will take care o’ me. Yeah, sultry fucking air, I’ll got to find ‘nother shelter. Well, the underpass does it pretty cool. But look at the cute ones, whoa! holding hands! Fast, the guys, holding hands and making out like there’s no tomorrow; me, I’m no fine for men. I wish though. Y’all, get over it and get me an ice cream! Sweet bloody lord!

Prompt by Writing Challenge 101



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