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Reach

The sky was red. Bluish, orange, red. Blinding when facing the sun.
She had her head on the edge of the matress, her endless hair falling downward, softly brushing the floor. Lying across the bed, her lower back was on the other edge, and her legs ascended all the way up the wall to the window, where her feet rested, and danced, and swayed embedded in the sunset's orange light.
She had her eyes closed, her lips barely half-open, her fingers intertwined, resting atop her stomach, which gently moved up and down with every breath she took.
Regarding him, he was sitting a little more over there, his back against the wall and his head against the window, his feet on the floor. Still, silent, looking at her without knowing she noticed it.
He was just a movement of her hand away, and she had no trouble admitting she wanted to touch him, that she wanted him to touch her. She wanted a little intimacy, fingertips, a first time, goosebumps, a shiver, a smile.
But she only heard him breathe in and out. Sunken in silence, she could even hear his eyelashes grazing the air, she could hear him not moving, she heard him not reaching to touch her.
When she opened her eyes, dusk had taken over the sky and the room.
The sky was bright blue gliding to nighty darkness. What was left of the sunlight was enough to delimitate their silhouettes. And his eyes not looking at her.

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