È festa

The coffee has gone cold, but for the first time, I wish time wouldn't pass so quickly. Just rain, a window, two glasses, and silence, where even the raindrops sound like a confession. Everything has already been said, but for some reason, right now, every "nothing" means a little more. Love, it turns out, doesn't ask if it's convenient. He just shows up on Sunday when you're not expecting it. And suddenly, even the sun outside isn't a reason to leave, because the warm light is no longer from the sky, but from someone's breath nearby.