Sometime Later
Cover me in the colour that reminds you
My eyes were closed.
Rapture.
Bliss.
I was lost in the moment when I suddenly felt his hand on my shoulder, so I opened my eyes. He was looking at me. Intently. I have no idea for how long he had been trying to grab my attention.
He pointed at the window, raised his eyebrows, and smiled.
Snow.
Snow falling down in a city that only knew how to burn. Snow falling down on pavements that scorched the souls of the living.
Was this real? There was only one way to find out.
Welcome to Inner Grooves. The records we love. The stories we hold. The secrets we keep.
If you value honest, AI-free writing, please consider a paid subscription. Thank you for supporting my work.
If you’ve been following these stories, you will have noticed a common theme.
Drama. Intensity. Darkness. Trauma. The taboo. Youth — my youth — switfly and brutally snatched away in exchange for the faint promise of pleasure.
This story is different.
No drama. No big scenes. No scar tissue to add to my ever-growing collection of trophies.
What you will find here instead is a pair of hands and arms that could hold the most elusive of souls. Two men on a futon bed and the dim sunset light of Sundays that blended into each other.
What you will find here, plain and simple, is a collection of moments that defied the rules of space and time, which is a fancier way of saying this was an instant that lasted forever.
