Be Italian

[thecuteonekills]

Soft, quiet mornings are so precious. The vehicles are not honking today, all they leave in their haste is the slippery

whoosh,

whoosh,

whoosh

of their tyres.

There is a soft scent lingering in the air, like a secret

w  h  i  s  p  e
                    r
                       ed

to no one

in particular.

I listen to it, hoping it unfolds into something my heart can grasp,

understand.

I bury my nose into your pillow. It's still warm from where you lay.