pastel morning

We used to whisper from our pillows at dawn, questioning if the very beat of our hearts had been enough to wake the other. It was a breath of an inquiry - soft lisps forming syllables on exhale. Eyes still closed could feel the light of morning as it floods through the drapes. The light against my eyelids woke me, not your heart nor your tongue.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #215 // Grazia Curcuru