Words in the night

It was a rare warm winter night in the ancient city. We strolled along the quiet streets of black cobblestone, which reflected, glossy with the rain, the lights of the neons and the streetlamps. Every now and then a lazy tram passed by, like a ghost, telling about a time that probably didn’t exist. Our voices knitted around us an absorbing bubble of life.
Suddenly, upon some disclosing words, we remained silent for a while.
When she spoke again, we were not the same any more.

This entry was posted in Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *