Our song of silence is on repeat again
It echoes so loudly as only ours can
I still feel you so deeply, I fear that will never change.
But hey, who am I to say..?
The theatre of life keeps hosting her plays.
We sing and dance and cry and die and everything in between before graciously exiting the stage.
Since. Since then, in the quiet of the night, for rhyme and reasons I actually do understand something changed, a quickening came.
Each Act becoming briefer. Each dialog cuts ever deeper. The seats feel a little cheaper and still we try and smile, never allowing ourselves to break character.
In our nakedness, free of prying eyes
Where we speak from our souls, off script and pure of heart is where our truths lie.
she is artwork and glory
she smells like cherries, spilt ink and thunderstorms