I slowly looked up to the sky.
“You do know people will think I’m crazy?”
My words lingered in the air.
The darkness of the garden wasn’t freighting, it was comforting, like a soft embrace of a lover.
I held my breath for a moment, then sighed deeply.
“I know, I know... You rarely care for what people say,” I chuckled, my gaze still resting on the stars.
A cricket squeaked somewhere, making me turn my head to the sound for a moment.
Red roses surrounded the marble bench, blooming, filling the air with an intoxicating sweetness.
I felt dizzy, like I was drunk, and maybe I was, because as my finger grazed the paper I couldn’t see the black dots and words correctly.
I chuckled again, throwing my head back to look up at the sky again.
The smell of old paper and flowers, sound of crickets and rustling of leaves in the wind, the marble bench and the undeniable presence of something I couldn’t quite process.. It all made my head spin, some