I will write you letters in invisible ink, sing you songs with my silent lips. If there is a pause in between our breaths, let it be pauses to gasp and catch air as we dim the walls with the shadow of our lips, touching smoothly, gracefully. I will wipe your tears and feel every drop fall against my skin, feel them dripping against my shoulder blades and I shall wish: that I may absorb the melancholy from which you are consumed, from which your well is caused to overflow. I will read you tales until you feel the heaviness in your eyes, light a fire in my embrace until you feel the warmth amidst the cold slits of remorse in the winter of your thoughts.

I will take you to places you’ve never been, to a place where you and I lone shall dwell, where time and space is deemed irrelevant and futile, only us two in our pretend-runaway from the world shall be of significance, shall be composing of our everything — in that place, to that place, we shall go, we shall go.