The wind. It howls.
In the middle of a silent night the leaves whistle, and the branches scratch the aluminium roof. The sound produced is as eerie as a score in a Stephen King movie. I can hear her heart whisper words of comfort. I can feel her breathe on my chest as she lies her head there. This is beautiful. I lie there imagining her dreams and a smile spreads across my face because for some reason I believe her dreams are like mine. Her dreams are my dreams. I close my eyes and dream with her.
I’m content.
I Am Molo. 