The sun bathed the edge of the untidy bed. The night before, the sheets revolted against the tyranny of their bodies in their eleventh attempt to make love. He touched her back, drawing the path to eroticism and stimulation through the spine. She didn’t shiver, she didn’t say a word. She drowned her face under the pillows. They longed for the war to end as soon as possible, but hope rose higher and both of them fell on the mattress. The sun came up to show two bodies facing different angles, with an empty space in between.
Words don’t mean that much.
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