We are two people having a casual conversation. Like a group of friends having a light walk in the woods. But then you get closer to watch that photo story carved in the palm of my hand and, as you lean over, I feel the comfort of my forehead pressed against yours. And I stay there, in this stolen moment, slightly breathing, barely moving, acting like nothing happened, like my whole world wouldn’t revolve around such carelessly shared gestures.

I sit there indulging on this moment, deeply inhaling every second that passes by. I know that you will straighten your posture and take a sip of that dark amber tea any time soon. It feels as tense as listening to the silence of the woods knowing that your noisy friends are about to burst into a loud laughter. Have I told you how that happened to me? I’m pretty sure I told you everything at least twice. And I’ll tell you everything at least twice more, when we both will have forgotten that we’ve already shared all that. Until then, I like to feel my forehead leaning against yours during a casual conversation.