Indeed

And we will make the stars jealous. We will make them jealous because they are thousands of miles apart and will never be as close to each other as we are right now.

Excerpt

She was running, racing past the cracked wooden gate,
"Maybe you should quite smoking, then you could catch up," Allison yelled behind her. But the wind carried her voice and Paul could not hear.
She laughed at her speed, thinking she had gained enough distance to keep him away. She chanced a slight halt in her run, when a pair of arms surprised her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back into him.
"Maybe you shouldn't underestimate the health benefits of cigarretes."
He had the sweet scent of Verona, and tobacco at his fingertips. He raced his hand through her hair, which smelled of lavender in bloom. He leaned in close, hoping to catch the scent, but all he could smell was the breeze.


They had stopped just short of the lighthouse. Though it was home, its majesty was best admired from afar. They spread the white blanket them, already sullied with dirt and grass, and sat down at the waters edge.

The wrinkles in her hand had been aggravated by the salt and sand, etching each line a little deeper, making each fold a bit more pronounced. He traced each line with his fingertips, as though she were the canvas, his hand the pen. The lines traveled up her arms, past her shoulder, curling around the scars on her chest, flowing and spilling through her hair, into the gentle crease of her eye lids. The lines traveled down her legs to where her toes met the water, and continued on to disappear into forever, but she would always remain the starting point in infinity.

They looked out to the sea, each painfully aware that other was there, though their eyes were too coy to meet. Instead they held each other, paying close attention to every breath; slow, eternal, and ever fleeting.

The ocean rush and salty breeze, the hum of hearts and accent of a kiss, was music. A symphony that would sound as he strummed fingers gently across her skin, like he was playing the slowest love song in the world and only they could hear it. It trembled within the two of them, echoing in the caverns of their flesh, while all the rest was silence.


"Do you feel that?" he whispered.
"Yes," she said, and her chest relaxed into her soul, content to know she wasn't the only one.

And with that they laid there, two cast aways lost at sea that had finally found their way home. And with that, they fell asleep.

From the napkin...

The air is musty with cigarettes and sex.
There's a tall guy in the front
playing love on his bass.
The light's too low to see his face
but that doesn't matter cause
there's no one I know here.
So i close my eyes,
let the six strings sing me words so sweet,
sounds so sweet,
from mouths of lovers I'll never meet.
For a moment, I am outside,
my tangled legs tango streets.
For a moment, I am away from the tragedy.
For a moment, I am in love. In your arms,
swearing to you that I will never stray,
I will never ever stray.
Remind me of a promise that's meant to be kept,
and I swear I'll never stray.
Now, we have world enough,
and time,
and we smile because we know we're in luck.
But the lights too low,
and the songs too loud,
and you are no where near.
And so I lose myself in the smoke and flames and burn burn burn into the evening.

I am going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children. —Jack Kerouac