Let’s devour the moon whole. And maybe a glass of wine, or two.
Leave out the wine, on second thoughts.
Bring some stories. Stories are better. Stronger. More heady. Even better when they’ve been in some underground cellar. Musty, dusty. Hidden. Forgotten. Treasured.
The older, the better. Stories are better.
Okay. The menu’s done. What about the place?
Somewhere quiet. Somewhere nice. Somewhere, where only you and I exist.
Yes, a rooftop at three hours past midnight.
(There was another place. My mind. Equally nice. Equally lonely. Just, not quiet enough. Heh)
Be warned though. I might kick you off the roof if you say something I don’t like.
Just kidding. I won’t.
I might kiss you on your lips for five minutes straight if you say something I like, though. I might.
Wear something warm. It’ll be cold there. I won’t, though.
Why. you say?
Well, just know that I kind of like the feeling of not feeling my fingertips and goose bumps on my skin.
I like goose bumps.
Give me goose bumps for a gift, can you?
Words do the trick. Stories are better. Always better.
Don’t try to impress me. Little does. Shock too, little shocks me.
You can thrill me though. You can. Are you thrilling enough?
It’s okay if you’re not.
I’ll still kiss you.
Alright. Be there. And it’s okay if you’re late.
Just don’t forget the stories.
Tonight, then. It’s a date.