The golden glow of flickering candlelight bathes the golden room, each flicker dancing like a whispered secret against the shadows. The air is sweet with the delicate steam of black tar that mixes with the burning incense on the table. Nostalgia and longing are thick in the room as Robert Smith’s voice takes us to better days.
A gentle breeze enters through the screen door, carrying a symphony of crickets, their chirping a lullaby for the sleepless and a reminder of home and some other place lost in childhood.
A hairy cat sleeps blissfully on my lap, a living example of contentment. My girl curled into the crook of my arm, her presence as warm and intoxicating as the opium we share. Each exhale is a shared dream, blurring the edges of reality into something softer, sweeter.
In this hazy cocoon of warmth and whispered affections, time slows to a delightful crawl, a moment serene and blissful. The outside world fades, and all that remains is us… Two souls wrapped in candlelight.
