Breathing

He leapt into the darkness that the room plunged into when the light was switched off. He was carefree, the feel of linen releasing him into a world of clouds. Then he'd seen her face, the smile that she had worn when he had kissed her goodbye. He had said it before to himself, but she was beautiful.

Shy eyes curling in a surprised manner, maybe she was surprised at the nature of his actions in intitaiting it. She had been about to leave with a simple goodbye, but he couldn't handle that. He'd needed something more concrete. So he'd leaned forward and she'd responded. A bit hesitantly, a bit impulsively, a light brush of the cheeks, a softness he still felt.

A matchstck preserved without burning. Just because it was too stubborn to burn. A strange kind of sensation. For something so destined for one thing and one thing only, to completely refuse to fulfill its purpose.

A cigarette in the darkness, lit by the illumination of a cellphone. A blue bulb cover from a playground ride, stolen in a drunken stupor, serves for an ashtray. The smoke, wisps of silvery white, floated in the lighted shadow, breathing, he thought later, had never felt so... satisfying.