Have you come to hear the whispers? Only upon the quietest of nights..
They follow you. Quiet as the church mouse that runs from steeple to steeple, perusing the confines of those sullen corners for a morsel. They whisper to you in the depths of the darkest night, and tease along your senses when the light beckons. The breaking of a new day, a new era, faintly graced upon by the softest of touches. A dream to flicker..
There is something almost..sweet..in the way they lie so gently. An ever mistrusting gaze to peer into ones soul, and twist the tendrils of thought, until what’s left is nothing more than a vision of what once was. What may be. What.. what indeed.
They are haunting. They dance in the moonlight, and delicately writhe beneath the blissful glow of all that could be possible. They wither, they blossom, they coax and plead beneath the archways of pristine design and give us both desire and dread within the same palm to feed.
It’s a blessing that laces so gently in curse, and each time we are differently lain for the push that greets us with toppling balance. We are neither tethered nor immune to them, and yet, we are somehow betwixt their battling as time slowly presses forward. Demanding our attentions. Drawing us to stand, where once we would settle..or set upon the flooring, where once we would make our voices heard. It is monotony at its finest, and prediction lain clearer than the crystal waters of some foreign shore.
What could be so much, and so little, all at once? Memories, sweet one.. memories..