"this is pantomime." she says.
and she holds in her hand an imaginary orange,
and peels it in a clean rope after sticking her thumb into what would have been an orange.
"it is okay if there were no good oranges to bring for me, eat these ones i imagined out of nowhere,
if you focus on chewing it, you might taste
the ghost of it's pulp on your tongue." she said.
— and the boy thought, maybe love was like pantomime;
love just springs out of nowhere and solely makes him focus on itself, so much so, that he might feel the ghost of it in his heart each time he meet eyes with her.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
through your words of mime
Poesíait's through your words of mime, that conversations themselves lost track of their time. · part three of woven shreds.
