She was like the smell of grass, sweetened by a shower; like the sight of lightning striking distant hills; like the poetry of birdsong in the morning's half-light. Her form floated on the breeze, glistened on the dew, glamoured the old into the new. And I loved her, I loved her; I still do. Time... Time... Time... The only real is what we feel. The only lotion, emotion. Emotion can hurt, emotion can heal. She was the sweetness after rain, the healing after pain. With the memories come the feelings: again and again and again.
© Kenneth Rowley 2013
© Kenneth Rowley 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment