Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The One With Postcards From Windows.

Dear Lover,

Tonight I sat on my couch.
In silence.
With an absence of words.
And thought, "You're no nearer, are you?"

And then suddenly a song came from outside my window.
I moved towards it, with curiosity.
With recognition.
Slid open the glass.
And rested my chin upon the ledge.


And then it was over.
And I applauded into the darkness.
Waiting for an encore.
Just staring at the stars.
Letting my ears trace the traveling music amidst the wind.
Searching for it.
Searching for me.
Until finally it came around the corner.
And below my windowsill.
Four boys.
In clean clothes and fading deoderant.
With music in their hands.
And a song throttling against their throats.
They stood.
And sang.
"I will love to see that day.
That day is mine.
When she will marry me outside with the willow trees.
And play the songs we made.
They made me so.
And I would love to see that day.
Her day was mine."

And then they left.
Without speaking.
Leaving me, kneeling there.
Hopeful, again.



  1. How do you know how to express what I am always feeling? I wish I could write like this...

  2. @ Ruth: We must be soul sisters! My suggestion? Take that soul of yours, and let it spill...