There will be all the time in the world
Questa, non so com'è, l'ho scritta in inglese...
Title: There will be all the time in the world
Characters: Archie/Horatio
Rating: PG
Word count: 211 (W)
I'm standing here, silently, looking at you. And you don't even notice. With my eyes, I caress your soft, blonde hair, messed up by the gentle breeze coming in from the window; your long eyelashes, picturing in my mind your sapphire eyes hidden by your sleepy eyelids; your pulpy lips, which paint a scarcely cracked smile.
Your calm breath is pure godsend for my heart, so relieved by seeing you slowly getting well, but at the same time still upset because of this feeling I’m trying to learn. I’d like to have the guts to ask you about Simpson, to invite you to try chasing away those painful memories. But I simply can't. You erected a wall around you so insurmountable that I can’t even find a way to tell you this happy news of our oppressor’s death.
I bend over you and, gently, shift a rebel wisp of hair from your forehead. You hint a move, but you don’t wake up, and I give up to the urge of caressing your lips with a finger. They are soft and I’m surprised of myself when I lean down and lay down a little kiss on them.
There’ll be all the time in the world to talk. Tomorrow. Or, someday, maybe.
Title: There will be all the time in the world
Characters: Archie/Horatio
Rating: PG
Word count: 211 (W)
I'm standing here, silently, looking at you. And you don't even notice. With my eyes, I caress your soft, blonde hair, messed up by the gentle breeze coming in from the window; your long eyelashes, picturing in my mind your sapphire eyes hidden by your sleepy eyelids; your pulpy lips, which paint a scarcely cracked smile.
Your calm breath is pure godsend for my heart, so relieved by seeing you slowly getting well, but at the same time still upset because of this feeling I’m trying to learn. I’d like to have the guts to ask you about Simpson, to invite you to try chasing away those painful memories. But I simply can't. You erected a wall around you so insurmountable that I can’t even find a way to tell you this happy news of our oppressor’s death.
I bend over you and, gently, shift a rebel wisp of hair from your forehead. You hint a move, but you don’t wake up, and I give up to the urge of caressing your lips with a finger. They are soft and I’m surprised of myself when I lean down and lay down a little kiss on them.
There’ll be all the time in the world to talk. Tomorrow. Or, someday, maybe.