Lore

I wonder if she still remembers the tempest that we rode together in our youth, rumbling and thundering, smashing into places and roaring in laughter,

I gotta say, we had our fair share of cuts and bruises, wrestling with the world, blinded by our youth fleeting ever so fast

Traces of those fights, the battles we had, the scars that were left in each other, now recollected in tiny bits of bitter-sweetness.

Remnants of these memories, ever so evanescent, remained as a mystic story, a whisper in the rustles of Fall leaves

After the storm, only the calm remains. Only in the absence of noise, truth is heard. Perhaps in the tiniest sound of them all, is where the old memory rests ever so patiently even after all these years.

So here we are. What can I do now?

I wait. I pray. I grow.

Per espera ad astra.

9.2.2021