Friends, Lovers
They stood there.
Holding each other tight in a way the bystander could not see or notice. His heart raced as his feet were planted in the ground.
And when the soft wind came, they remained. Every breeze that made its way through the tussles and curls of hair dissipated as each moment passed.
With the sun setting on the horizon, they knew it was time to go. Their hour had come. But even with fragile bodies separate and unspoken poetry hanging in the air, they held each other tightly. And as the last ray of sunlight struck the mirror within, a reflection of longing shone. Myriads of moments frozen in time, a park bench on a breezy Spring afternoon, a coffee shop in the heart of an Autumn evening, a warm home in the dead of a Winter evening. The snow falls and so do they.
One silence at a time. A sense of yearning suspended on the tight rope that they tread ever so cautiously, afraid of falling yet even more afraid of losing their grip on each other. They hold tight. Brace yourself, he says. With eyes closed, they live. Empty words are of no use to us. Let us remain here. Hand in hand. heart in heart, we remain.
For is it better to speak?
Or to die?
Heptameron by Marguerite de Navarre (1492-1549)
AMDG
Holding each other tight in a way the bystander could not see or notice. His heart raced as his feet were planted in the ground.
And when the soft wind came, they remained. Every breeze that made its way through the tussles and curls of hair dissipated as each moment passed.
With the sun setting on the horizon, they knew it was time to go. Their hour had come. But even with fragile bodies separate and unspoken poetry hanging in the air, they held each other tightly. And as the last ray of sunlight struck the mirror within, a reflection of longing shone. Myriads of moments frozen in time, a park bench on a breezy Spring afternoon, a coffee shop in the heart of an Autumn evening, a warm home in the dead of a Winter evening. The snow falls and so do they.
One silence at a time. A sense of yearning suspended on the tight rope that they tread ever so cautiously, afraid of falling yet even more afraid of losing their grip on each other. They hold tight. Brace yourself, he says. With eyes closed, they live. Empty words are of no use to us. Let us remain here. Hand in hand. heart in heart, we remain.For is it better to speak?
Or to die?
Heptameron by Marguerite de Navarre (1492-1549)
AMDG
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