walk thin lines, tracing the color of our breaths with our eyes. white.
fingers, we can only feel one another’s, and it doesn’t feel like the blood is circulating through our veins but we’re fine with that.
we’re fine because we have each other.
it’s the dead of winter and not a soul breathes but our own right now.
what’s the hour?
the sun set long ago, and we’re still walking, despite the sores of our feet aching. the bay is cold, our reflection greets us. your face is buried in the collar of your jacket.
your face eventually disappears into my shoulder, and I feel you inhale, exhaling warm pants. out here, I hold you close, where the cold can’t reach.
“wataru” it’s soft, and I can barely hear it, and your body shivers.
without thinking, my coat drops over your shoulders, and I bare it. my jacket’s two sizes too big on you, and you disappear into it.
“wataru, let’s race to the horizon.”
“climb on my back and we’ll meet the constellations on it’s edge.”
