(no subject)
Some nights I can still hear the sound of the train that drifted in with the hot air through your bedroom window. Laying beside you, covered just barely by a sheet.
"You can turn on the fan if you're too hot" you would always say, as you drifted toward sleep.
I'd smile to myself and wonder why you always felt the need to say so each time.
But then I'd usually turn it on, and lay back down, watching your drapes sway in the heat.
The whir of the fan nearly drowning out the heavy air of the train, rumbling ever onward.
"You can turn on the fan if you're too hot" you would always say, as you drifted toward sleep.
I'd smile to myself and wonder why you always felt the need to say so each time.
But then I'd usually turn it on, and lay back down, watching your drapes sway in the heat.
The whir of the fan nearly drowning out the heavy air of the train, rumbling ever onward.