Cwtch

...

An embrace.

Loving, protecting, safeguarding and claiming. With intimacy, earnestness, ownership. A safe place in two peoples' hearts.

So I ask her again. Do you know what is that thing which will heal ? And let you breathe a bit. You've been holding that breath for too long, do you realise that.

Have seen fuller eyes but not ones that can brim so much and still hold for hours, years. She is not with me, or anyone. Looks away with hesitation, afraid of resting eyes on something forbidden, reliving ununderstood words, uncertain what to feel.

A silent hour between midnight and dawn. Even when broken by life, scattered in space, at this hour, seeing the sky always makes her dream. She closes her eyes.

Isnt it quiet. The city sleeps early of late. Fatigued around each other all day, in and out of rooms, companionships, pretences. It is quiet, and flute plays in a soft night raga with muted tanpura underneath.

The moon is crayoned and calm. Sometimes behind a cloud in usual transience. Stars are sparse, her pole star unmoved at his distance, always giving an illusion of looking at her.

She feels as if each of these, soft light of the moon, skin touching hair caressing breeze, the sky the quiet the darkness this one solitary magical moment in time, every element of creation perceptible to her senses is nothing but bits of him.

The flute is without an end.

I ask her. Do you know what is that one thing which will heal ? And let you breathe a bit?

...