The Thief
Stealing Her Sadness, Planting His Love
Every morning he would sneak toward her house. He would hide behind the balcony wall and eavesdrop on her every move. He waited for her to leave, and once she was gone, he entered her empty house, which was filled with nothing but her fragrance. He tiptoed around the house’s rooms, and his hand passed over her forgotten cup in the living room, where he sipped the remnants of her lost thoughts.
He occupied her kitchen and arranged a basket of wrinkled fruit from neglect. He then went to her bedroom, confidently entering as if he were the master of the house. He picked up her worn nightgown from the edge of the bed and whispered to her fragrance, which still clung to the fabric, in murmurs that only he could hear.
He lay down on the bed, turned his gaze to the side of the bed, and smiled. If only this wish could come true. If only he could wake up one day next to her and smile at her. He dozed off, flowing between the folds of his fading dreams on the pillow.
The sun drew its journey towards the horizon, and she placed her key in the lock and entered her home. She smelled a strange scent that had invaded the place and walked around her home cautiously, like a scared thief. She entered her bedroom quietly, where her nightgown awaited her where she had thrown it, and her pillow was…
