Fictionators

"Do you ever think about the stars in the city, Swan?" he murmured.

"Sometimes."

"Each of them is as hot and brilliant as the sun. And, we create artificial lights that are ugly and cold. They make our eyes blind to the suns that surround us."

I watched him speak. The muscles in his face pushing against the air, kissing it. His lips wrapping around the words like wet grass in a summer rain. I looked up at the sky, but the stars were dim, their light weary from the journey to Earth. So I turned my head back to Edward and watched him shine. The beat and hum of the life under his skin was more beautiful than a ball of burning plasma.

He looked at me, and my breath stilled in my chest, held hostage by his gaze. I closed my eyes, all senses dead except for touch, and I ached to feel his lips against mine. But before I could taste the mouth of an angel, my stomach growled, crushing the moment into a fine dust.