Floating Like Leaves, Little Secrets And The Serenity Of It All

Holding hands, watching the water crest and recede, understanding that the breath we take alternates with the bated breath of the sun, beyond our reach, hanging over us, dominating the skyline.

Hands in pockets, the air hanging crisp and clear between our naked eyes, our naked smiles, our fresh morning coffee, the untoasted bagel for the birds, the emptiness of the park.

A delicate kiss, the whispers, the secrets that no one will ever hear, the words that no one else but us will understand.

Crunching red and browning leaves, sloping walkways, gargoyles, bikers, the vacant pool.

Stone steps, oblivious to the environment, welcoming our arrival, the wind blowing quietly, the leaves applauding our slow climb.

The city, the moulded steel, the venerable marble, cascading glass, rippling reflections.

Lukewarm coffee, empty pockets, hungry birds, crumbs.

Vendors celebrating with hot chocolate, enveloping aromas, squirrels hop to their trees.

Thoughts of cider, thoughts of pumpkins, thoughts of soup, thoughts of cheese, walking westward.

Hooves clacking, faint farm odors, neighing and braying, joggers seem unfazed.

Stepping aside, watching the brook enjoy its course, leaves like boats, floating, carried away, hoping somewhere far, somewhere nice.

A whisper, your whisper, my whisper, our genuine smiles, distant hum of city buses, thoughts of frozen yogurt, a genuine kiss.

Underneath our feet lie miles and miles of tracks, hidden gems and unknown rocks, our grasp of the world briefly escapes us, the beliefs that we hold dear to our heart is forgotten, even if a moment, until our embrace ends, abruptly as it started,

Yet day isn’t over yet, neither are we, our bodies will again be held tight by our arms, and we will hold each other, understanding, we never want to let go, for our sake, as we are all we have, nothing more, nothing less, fated to be, this is our love, and our desire to keep it. TC mark

image – saccodent

Related

More From Thought Catalog

blog comments powered by Disqus