The Writing Machine

Stories by Christian Cloud Abraham

Words in a Room

And so we sit in the chilly evening getting drunk by looking into each other’s eyes in the cozy little restaurant with the flamenco guitar intoxicating such an evening alone together. And so our lips move and our tongues waggle and our cheeks puff and blow and out come words of dreams and hopes and aspirations and full of intent and they break the air and we hear them in our ears and they become absorbed in the chatter and bodies and articles and the mood of the room around us and they are no more. And mostly, they are nothing but words in a room.

END
© 2006 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on November 12, 2006 in
Emotion: Indifference, Type: Creative Nonfiction