onsdag 23. desember 2015

The lights you place on a grave are not red.

The night is cold. The wind… the wind blows. Piercing stars gaze upon those who look at them from afar, only to remain diminished by the paleness of the moon. Yet the green, blue, black and silver bids me welcome. The stars, the moon, the wind, the trees... Tonight is a night to walk outside, to feel alive, to hold one's head high as the cloak flaps behind; unseen, but not unfelt or unheard. And as I throw the hood back with the help of the gentle breeze I stand there, watching, watching you stand next to me. You let the wind caress your hair, your skin, your soul. You shut your eyes to the wonders of the night, listening, listening to the music. The music of the night. Your smile is soft upon your features.

I close my eyes, too, wanting to embrace eternity. Now you’re but a memory, for your presence is masked to me. The wind, the cold, the light of the moon and stars playing on my eyelids and sends shivers down my body. I reach out with a hand and you’re not there. I open my eyes. You're not there. I wish you were. Here.

As I’m lying in the red I imagine you beside me. You’re looking at me. I’m looking at you. Silently we stay, naked for the lights. Laid bare, souls at peace and at rest. The moment goes on. Neither of us wants to end it.
Disturb it.
Break it.
Shatter it.
End it.

The moment goes on.

Your face seems soft in the candlelight.

The red and the black flicker on the walls. We’re together at last.

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