gaze

“Do they collide?”

I turn around, and I smile. She’s beautiful. Flowing auburn strands of hair fall across her porcelain skin. She brushes them away absentmindedly. This side of existence, there is no one else but the two of us.

Sleeping. mumbling. gazing. holding. breathing. on the grass. to each other. at the heavens. hands. slowly. “Do what collide?”, I asked.

“The stars,” she says pointing up, “do they collide?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know what does. Universes.”

She blushes.