layers

She walks to the left, restless. Looks down, worried. Sighs. Looks up, hopeful. Walks to the right, eager. "I don't know," she says.

He stays still. "What is it?"

"Oh, you know..." She kicks the floor with her left foot.

He does know.

"Don't look at me," she rubs her hands together.

They listen to the loud silence. The walls of the living room fade. They feel uncomfortably comfortable. They have been there before. It is happening again. Once again.

He rushes towards her and kisses her on the lips. He should not have. That is the tipping point.

They kiss and hug and caress and clumsily walk to her room. She closes the door. What they are stays outside. It is just herself. It is just himself. Naked. In a desert island surrounded by blues. Two merging rainbows.

When they open the door again, their paradise sinks. Layers of life that keep them away from themselves. That fade the colors. Only then, the reasoning, the rules, the logic.

"It's cold out here, isn't it?"