All That’s Unsaid

Sun-dried grass wraps the porch like nature's incense. It mingles with the ouzo lingering on our breath—a remnant of an evening well spent. Stars power the crickets as they orchestrate summer's song, and the sultry air dances along, brushing our cheeks as it slips through the space left between us. You lace your wrinkled fingers with mine, and we look at each other knowingly: this could be our last time. You tighten your grip, and our wet eyes glisten with all that's unsaid.