the short story

It's never too late to stare at the stars and think. And that's  what I did with him last night. The frozen night, after a few glasses of wine. We were drunk, but we were in love with our own truth. And I don't dare to make any question about it. 

I won't see him anymore. I can't steal his eyes, I made a promise to him, I made a promise to myself: don't steal eyes. Never more.

And then I went home... to dry my wounds.