Heaven; as I’ve come to realize from reading Mitch Albom’s book; is wherever and whatever our hearts want it to be — a favorite place in the park, a seaside spot or on top of a mountain.
It’s was a very beautiful book, and it was a very beautiful thought. And now that I am hormonal and it’s almost 2 in the morning while I am sitting here, listening to sappy songs, I’ll share to you a piece of my heaven. Only a little piece since however I describe it to you, you can never see it, feel it or even smell the way it is in my imagination. No words could ever translate my little heaven, my little heaven at least for now, if I’d ever die soon.
The sun almost completed its setting outside your window, the sky more golden orange than usual. It was a little dark inside the room as the shadows from your hanging lamp slow danced on the walls. The windows are ajar and the cold breeze makes the room a little chilly, making our legs intertwine a little tighter. We lay there in the silence of the night, a never-ending playlist of old songs softly playing somewhere near. We are smiling like idiots entranced by each other’s eyes, oblivious to everything but us. You caressed my face as I smile at you, but then you remembered a funny story and so we laughed until we cried. It feels so light to be with you that I feel almost guilty of having too much happiness just for myself. We hugged and kissed and slept in each other arms. The night was young, but the time was not existing. We are not fearing the sunrise and we are together in this frozen time as long as we want to.