The Aquila: NU's Online Literary Journal

the greatest times
are the most still

There's a lot to be in dread about (the mess in the room, the mess of paperwork, the sick mess, the messy nature of my writing) but when the sweat of your palm touches my sweaty palm,

there is calm.

When you push the window open to air out the room (there's something wrong behind those walls, but we don't have the money to fix it) I like how the breeze washes over our skin,

our breaths thin,

listening to music until the night brushes into morning,
nothing else to consider.

~ Chloe Little