]
] right here
]
] (now again)
]
] for
]
I closed my book, folded a piece of paper. I want to say something but shame prevents me.
Of all the stars the most beautiful was the one...
If this is not winter, then what is?
Write down the words in Indian ink, or speak them to a mirror. It makes no difference. Nothing will
][ hold
When we could
stand
[]
face to face...
[I]
and then [ ]
In our place
]
]
]
]
]
]
]
]
Time
~~~
Many seasons will pass, Winter and Spring, the senses slowing, the eyes less keen; hands that would know will be less sure; my hair will thin, yours will grey, our hearts free from straying and you will no doubt, if you remember at all, say these were but words, like snowflakes that immediately lost all form on contact with your window, disappearing in the night of your starred heart.
3 comments:
this is too melancholy even for the BS!!!
i will say everything makes a difference! no matter in what world these words were spoken, they were spoken, if i get your story right - and words can be like snowflakes, indeed, but they can also hold everything, what was, what is, what will be, what could have been...
yes, i think you're right, roxana, this is a rather silly story. I'm still in the process of developing it. let's see how it turns out.
thanks for dropping by.
and now, off to a lecture!
catch you later,
K.
i didn't say it was silly, though...
Post a Comment