Friday, January 16, 2015

whispers in the dark

When he walks, it’s with the resolution of authority and the delicacy of grace. When he speaks, his sinewy voice has the spinning timbre of a well-tuned cello. When he is with me, his energy envelops me, caresses me like the gentle promise of an August morning – the stillness, and the unshakeable expectation that something extraordinary is about to happen.
Thus he is in my eyes. But like in any tragic story, he is only a friend.
Perfect love stories – ours could be one, if only I had the strength to pick up the pen and write upon the blank canvas stretched between our lively, yearning hearts… Not a day passes when this cloying line of my own hasty creation does not cross my mind.

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