We cry from pain, from loss, and from loneliness, but mostly we cry because we still have hope, and because we can still find joy even on the darkest and coldest of winter nights.
I can breathe where there is green. Green grows hope. It keeps my heart beating and helps me remember who I am.
I miss the floral scent of her hair, the perfume that barely masked the underlying truth of what she was. She was lost time. She smelled of dusty libraries and unwound clocks, salted sand and rain riding on the first rays of dawn. And lilac. When she held me to her, lilac was what I smelled first.
She was lost time. She smelled of dusty libraries and unwound clocks, salted sand and rain riding on the first rays of dawn.
