It's time to pick up the peices.

She made coffee at four AM, the scent filled her walls, she inhaled and slept. And then she slept- she pressed her cheek to the pilliow and sighed.
He listened for the phone, silence rang and he heard it in his throat. And when he clasped his hands there was nothing, when he opened his eyes there was darkness. He dreamt not, and the sound escaped him.
Then, when they had been, they were honesty. The colours of the weather wound heavy, until all was yellow, smooth and sharp. They rode the bus and she sat alone. Towns, feilds, roads fell into eachother, all blurred to crystal gray.
Something drew him toward her, she clutched a pen to pour in her pain. It touched the paper and he wisked it away- he wanted to read her, to know her. She hid behind a drawing, eluded by inks and they rested in conversation. And when she looked to him through powder blue clouds he'd smile and they'd walk down to childhood. When they passed a beach their eyes locked- and future spoke. Eyes ran over fantasy- past the dark sand glazed with heaving sea foam, and gazed into the hues of sun. They got off at the stop, and each walked alone. When they met again it was in silence. They had stopped and parted, she lay stranded on the shore and he swam in the surf.
Something drew her toward him and the ocean curled and whispered. He submerged in the water to pour out his pain, his lungs contracted with sorrow. And she wisked it away, she wanted to breathe him- to know him.
And when they met, they met in silence, and silence was enough.

...To be continued.