Peace.

“All I want is the taste that your lips allow.”

There is a certain unreal peace that blankets the world at 6 am. It is quiet.

Remnants of the night can be seen in the way clouds cling to the ground; not wanting to leave the surfaces that give them shape.

The knowledge of their impending and unavoidable departure makes the ground ache, it makes the clouds prolong each second. But they do not cling for there is peace.

The clouds– fast turning into wisps of the kisses shared–soar above to the skies they belong. The ground smiles because it knows the night will bring them back.

There is peace; the kind which envelops everything. The kind that makes mornings sane, the coffee tasty and the first sunbeam feel like a farewell kiss from the night’s clouds for the ground it bid goodbye–holding promise until the next meet.

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