9:27 pm

Her face was inches away from mine. Her skin irradiated something fresh akin to a still breeze. This warmness might be my imagination.

"…Good night, Mr. Burglar."

"Good night, Aurora."

Her eyes were, of the slightest coincidences, peering through mines. I'd a feeling she exactly knew what she was looking at, or at least, the image compulsively self-processed in her mind. Her eyes waned very, very slowly, so slowly like the nights of insomnia she had to suffer through.