Farewell,
It was December. As the snowflakes fell, the tree dangling lights filling the streets. Brimming branches of pine and stacks of long wooden trunks. Finding a home.
“you said feelings become poetry when we forget them. maybe some of them become songs too...”
“that would be nice” (doctor who, hell bent)
they were talking that afternoon. she fell asleep lying on the grass. when she awoke, he had left, there was a cloak covering her, a bouquet of flowers tied with beautiful draping ribbons, and a card with words left beside her. he sat with a straw in his mouth, one leg raised on a branch, a book in hand. when she got up and left, he disappears from the scene. ‘everything can be faked, even love…’
Every snowflake is different. No two are ever the same. Due to an infinite number of variations, in temperature and humidity. The conditions that create each snowflake are so unique that an individual shape can never be repeated, in any that has ever fallen, or will ever fall. Water crystallizations in their descent to the Earth. But what is even more fascinating is that a snowflake never stops changing, even after it has landed. Temperature continues to transform it, in the most beautiful of way.
It was a non-linear timeline intermittently repeating, yet with that knowledge taken away. They were all the same, and still they were all different. Like the snowflakes that fell from the sky. A play of two in a life of one.
Farewell is the last bridge in fragmental pieces forgotten from timeline, a promise on the verge of breaking apart. Deepness in surrender as it is left adrift to perfect silhouettes, shivering bloom in a hauntingly beautiful reminiscence. Restriction of wild transience to a limitation in recollection, if the passage may remain.
We don’t always have to find a meaning, you know. She reminded him of that. For a time, to just live with her became enough, because they both shared the same dreams. And even if he didn’t meet her, no matter how many he met, it was the idea of her, that kept him going.
"hey hey, you're okay. hi. we have to stop meeting like this."
groans of pain as he was uncertain of where he was, who she was, or even who he was.
he wanted to be next to her. he didn’t want to leave, knowing they would separate one day, again. trust. trust is the most important part of anything. without trust, there is no lasting excitement, no relaxing enjoyment, no deep satisfaction. and trust, trust needs to be built. trust in oneself, and trust in another. but don’t be blind in trust. for the true value of trust lead to other morals. respect. loyalty. freedom. integrity… hope. even if there is no hope. a trust that everything will be exactly as it is, whatever it may be.
welcome back.
