Multicolor dream
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(open the audio file in a new tab to listen to the song while reading)
Evening. Calm.
From the window the yellow/orange lights of the street lamps highlight the rain.
Noah is in the half-light of his room. He is sitting on the bed and has his black box in his hand. As per ritual he opens it with care and dedication and, with his usual careful movements, lays out all the contents.
Opal has woken up, is now standing in the doorway of Noah's bedroom and is watching him in silence. She is wearing a very large t-shirt for her (probably Noah's) that reaches down to her bottom leaving her long, toned and sensual legs uncovered.
Noah does not immediately notice her. The ritual steals all his concentration. Then he sees her.
They look into each other's eyes for a while. He feels a mixture of embarrassment and shame, typical of someone who has been caught red-handed. She is particularly beautiful. She hints a smile, seems to tell him "it's OK."
She advances towards him, slowly, sits down next to him and lays down on top of the photographs. Those photographs, which until a moment before Noah laid down with care and dedication like sacred relics, are now crushed beneath her. It is strange, but he is not bothered by it; he only looks at Opal captivated by her marked femininity. Lying down she reciprocates with magnetic eyes. They do not say a word to each other but their gazes converse.
And then he finally surrenders, lets his armour crumble, releasing emotions of every nuance.
And they kiss, a kiss saturated with infinite colours.
Little by little all the photographs lying on the bed are thrown to the ground by passion (the present sweeps away what has been).
Patterns are shattered.
There is no more past, no more lies. There is no more fear, no more crying. There are no more doubts.
There are only the two of them in the world.
From the window the yellow/orange lights of the street lamps highlight the rain.
Noah is in the half-light of his room. He is sitting on the bed and has his black box in his hand. As per ritual he opens it with care and dedication and, with his usual careful movements, lays out all the contents.
Opal has woken up, is now standing in the doorway of Noah's bedroom and is watching him in silence. She is wearing a very large t-shirt for her (probably Noah's) that reaches down to her bottom leaving her long, toned and sensual legs uncovered.
Noah does not immediately notice her. The ritual steals all his concentration. Then he sees her.
They look into each other's eyes for a while. He feels a mixture of embarrassment and shame, typical of someone who has been caught red-handed. She is particularly beautiful. She hints a smile, seems to tell him "it's OK."
She advances towards him, slowly, sits down next to him and lays down on top of the photographs. Those photographs, which until a moment before Noah laid down with care and dedication like sacred relics, are now crushed beneath her. It is strange, but he is not bothered by it; he only looks at Opal captivated by her marked femininity. Lying down she reciprocates with magnetic eyes. They do not say a word to each other but their gazes converse.
And then he finally surrenders, lets his armour crumble, releasing emotions of every nuance.
And they kiss, a kiss saturated with infinite colours.
Little by little all the photographs lying on the bed are thrown to the ground by passion (the present sweeps away what has been).
Patterns are shattered.
There is no more past, no more lies. There is no more fear, no more crying. There are no more doubts.
There are only the two of them in the world.