“I love you,” you breathe into the shell of my ear.
“I wish for you,” I breathe out softly. The sound is almost inaudible over the cars speeding past above us, zooming to their destinations, telling me that our time is ticking away.
Two syllables barely do you justice. Even if you stagger under the weight of the world, you have angel wings you still cannot see.
It pains me to admit that someday, our time will be a pressed flower petal in the pages of memory.