The sunlight coming from the window makes everything in the room look soft. Haziness from the rays blurs up time like fog, and the question of whether it's noon or the evening gets lost within the gentle breeze blowing in from the window.
Curtains move slowly with the summer wind; they dance to a tune of their own. Picture frames and pieces of worn clothes lie around the place like pieces of jigsaw puzzles; not quite fitting, but there all the same.
It's a room well lived in, a home that's built over the years brick by brick, memories woven into it like fine lace. It ties everything together, holds it up even under raging storms, never to be shaken.
The bed sheets are soft and worn, showing signs of faded prints. It needs a good wash soon, but for now, it can wait. There is time, and an infinite amount of it; today, tomorrow or, forever. There is time.
"What do you think?"
Her voice is a light whisper on the side of his ears. And he turns his face to look at her.
Age tried hard to put a mark on her, but somewhere along the road, it seemed to have lost its track completely. Here, under the golden hue, she looks young, wide yet tired eyes burning with a youth they both had left long ago. The soft smile on her face makes her look like a child; mischievous yet naive, even though he knows how wrong the second assumption about her is.
Under the golden hue, she looks content. Happy. And when she reaches out to trace her fingers lightly across his brows, he feels a shiver run through him, even though the movement is anything but new between them. Twelve years worth of emotions and memories surge through him at an instant, and he finds himself struggling to speak. Even if it's just for a moment.
"About what?" he finally voices out. And she gives him a look of faux annoyance.
"You know about what," she says, and he can feel the eye-roll in her words, even though her gaze has yet to move from him.
"We can always, go, you know," he says after a while, eyes gazing into her with fondness that has yet to be dimmed, even after all this time. "Just, go... Wherever we want."
"Go where our eyes can take us?" she hums in a tune he has heard her sing a countless times, and he nods. He knows he'll do anything for her. And in return, so will she.
"Just, run," he speaks. "From it all."
"And no one will stop us?" she questions, and he chuckles.
"Since when did you start caring about anyone else?" he says, and hears her snort.
"So we can just.. Go? Leave?" she says again.
"Yeah..." he hums, "Leave. Together," he affirms.
"Your mother might get angry." she points out.
"She'll understand."
"My mother might get angry."
"We'll just buy her a new gardening set, and she'll be pleased."
"Our friends—"
"—don't give a fuck about what we do—"
"What about you?" she stops him.
"Me?" he asks, looking confused.
"Yes. You. What about you? How would you feel if we... You know..." she trails off, gazing at him with wide eyes, making him smile.
"Well... The world is... Big," he says, eyes locked on hers. "Yet we live under the same sky. Mountains, forests, fields and oceans, the diversity of it all is something that changes as you move. Nothing in this world is constant." he hums.
"The oceans will dry out one day. Lushes green fields will decay and turn into a desert. The world will move and shift as time flows through them. So whatever we built here, right now, isn't constant. And I know, no matter how much you want to move and, explore and, leave, you always look for that one constant."
"And what might that be?"
"I don't know." he says, and before she can protest, he speaks again. "and neither do you. So all I can do, is provide you with a constant of my own."
Turning to his side, he pulls her close by the waist, and runs a hand over her wild black hair.
"Me. I'll be your constant," he says while looking into her eyes.
"These arms will always hold you when you are tired and will always let you run free. No constraints. Ever." he smiles.
"So no matter what you do, wherever the hell you want to go, I promise you, I'll be right there with you. We'll be the sole observer of the ever-shifting world, you and I. We'll watch the skies change colours and cities come crashing down. And throughout all of it, I'll hold your hand as tightly as I can, up until the day I die."
The sunlight coming from the window makes everything in the room look soft. Haziness from the rays blurs up time like fog, and the question of whether it's noon or the evening gets lost within the gentle breeze blowing in from the window.
But they are not in a hurry. There's no need to figure out the time. Nor is there a need to figure out the place they are in.
Because sometimes, the shifts in the universe and all it's moving variables, means nothing against that one constant that stays. Forever.