This I dedicate to The Unsilent. He continues to be one hell of a great friend and has touched my life in many ways. This is for you.
Droplets of water fell heavier onto the earth from the clouds above. The more it rained the more the night grew darker, longer and more silent. They made their way home, to her house in the downpour. Sadly, the rain didn’t aid her in her state of confusion and his of silence. There, they sat, in their predefined places of seating, she on the left, and he on the right. Her hands lay on her lap and while his right hand was on the wheel and the other had made its permanent abode for the journey on the gear shift. He always preferred it that way, and she didn’t mind it. She had always found his form of driving exciting, there was something quite enthralling about it.
Dedicated to my Phoenix. An attempt at penning my emotions. I wrote this for you a long time ago, I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner.
In my time of sorrow and need, when the world seemed against me and I against it, you showered me with words I needed to find my strength to persevere. With every day that passes you make me want to find the lining, that is silver and shimmery, in the dark cloud that looms high above. To this day, no matter what, you are the reason I break my heart in pieces to know that my love is true, no matter how cold and twisted or kind and gentle, I have found love in you. With passing winds, the leaves turn orange, and with it the sunsets grow longer. As days go by, the night grows deeper, more meaningful that the last, with it the skies move past me, with the stars that shimmer luck. Though our love may be disheveled at first, in this cocoon I’ve found my home at last. As birds pass us by, flying at the pace that’s dear, with it will our hearts grow fonder, in hasty warmth and tears forth, may the call of flowing waterfalls brings us closer, in the Niagara that flows down clear.
“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”
Epicurus (341 BC – 270 BC)