He asked, under the arch of his brow, and the arch of brooding moonlight.
Like that crescent, a strap of hair hung over one eye, obscuring it, though not able to hide equally the look that pierced me with the same forthrightness of his question.
Contrasting the noise of the busy cafe, I was silent.
I never sleep...
My soft reply, deeply whispered, rustled ripples on my cappuccino foam.
For then, it was late evening, or early nighttime, depending on perspective. I remained forever awake with each setting sun, slipping easily into dreamless repose a few hours before each dawn.
Recently, I remained forever awake. Day after day.
I've forgotten that word. It holds no meaning for me anymore. I...