That heavy cigarette scent, intertwined with his cologne, lingered in the little space between us. He looked deep into my shattered soul with his aphotic black eyes in that crepuscular night, and did not utter the faintest of words. I longed to hear something other than his heavy breathing, subtle heartbeat, and my own nebulous thoughts- the overdue silence. Silence isn't golden. Quite the contrary, actually, silence is any color but gold. Silence is crimson- burning hearts like a ruthless wildfire. Silence is black- deep & unsolvable, like the midnight sky. Silence is blue- endless & tranquil, yet dangerous, like the vast oceans. When your words fill this calamitous silence, and when you are once more my blessed disaster, my soul will be humbled & the crimson-black-blue silence will flourish into a golden burst of elation. Until then, I will read the most disheartening of love stories & whimper during late, candlelit nights before I sleep. I will yearn to smell that heavy cigarette scent mixed with the cologne so unique to you. I will be gracious when I see you & will glower when I don't. Each thought of you will engrave a new pang of desire in my bruised heart & I will want so strongly to disdain each one, but then I'll remember the profoundness of your stare into every part of my being & any scorn or sneer I ever felt will vanish into another auroral thought of you.

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