Wake

Love here is like a storm over the desert: lightning flashes, thunder shatters the sky, but there will still be no rain. Words are like electric shocks, glances are like atomic explosions, and even silence sounds louder than any quarrel. Everything hangs on the premonition of disaster: illusions crack, hopes dry up faster than California soil, and memory stubbornly paints pictures of a future that will never happen. Beautiful and destructive, as always happens when you hold a storm in your hands for too long.