lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

young woman near window in living hall
Photo by Olya Kobruseva on Pexels.com

the lady in waiting, trade in a life for the dream, so clear, a portrayal of all love inside a movie scene, i always thought it would be you, a quiet painted green wooden porch, the type of porch that encompasses all around the house, peeling paint on all the edges of door and window frames, buckled from years of the seasons beatings, a backdrop to all the reasons, the creaking rocker swing, and there we are, looking out at a long field of green grasses, something like a farm, harmonized by the subtle magic of the grass swaying, for a jersey boy a strange thought perhaps, maybe this is some sort of rockwell archetype (or hummel) etched in me somewhere at my core, a typical apple pie american bucolic scene, and my mind shifts…
maybe the shore, the ocean, the beach with no one else around, the gulls sounds across the dunes, I suppose miles of swaying grass resembles the sea after all, the same calming feeling ensues, wind waves undulating on, perhaps she waits there for me, or am I waiting for her to arrive, here at, the sunset of our lives, a sun sinks below into the depths, seagulls become just black angle angels hovering against the glow, tired and quiet now, there is just the sound of the waves break, the pulse, the true deep heartbeat of the earth herself, and your hand, I can feel the warmth from what blood is left, our eyes locked out to the seascape, as if we are one, and we are, because that is what I wish this to be, my lady in waiting, my love, I will come for thee, if I have to cross the face of god or the scour the body of the universe – for you, I will, I will come, to spend those last moments with you – as one, I will walk barefoot across the surface of the sun, burn all that remains save my soul for the return, for I will journey on, until, I am once more with you, my love, my lady in waiting.

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