It's as if he is still here. I can hear his calm voice on the gentle wind. I feel his hand on my shoulder as the fog closes in. He weaps for me as it rains. And he sings to me using the bird's voice. The glowing summer sun reminds me of his golden hair. The icicles of winter bring back pictures of his beautiful eyes. When they foundhis sleeping body, his face reminded me of an innocent child. A child who does not yet know the sadness and pain of the world. I see his dead body, yet the wind tells me he isn't dead. I hear the trees whisper his name among their leaves. The creatures talk to him. They tell him my name so he doesn't forget. He may be dead, but he is not gone. He is simply waiting for me to come. I know this...because he told me so.
Katie Wildheart · Mon May 11, 2009 @ 12:12am · 0 Comments |