So I held out my hands, palms upwards. Helpless, hopeless, with that mocking aching band around my heart. And you took my hands, one to each of yours, linked fingers and squeezed. Slipped an arm around my waist, palm against the small of my back. Tilted up my chin and said, smile, little one. Kissed me and whispered in my ear, you will be fine.
Took me for a walk by moonlight, my arm through yours and my head on your shoulder. Smell of wet earth and sounds of traffic in the distance. Bats and birds and stars and moon and breezes and sighs. Companionable silence and music in my head.
What? Imagination is good therapy too.
Took me for a walk by moonlight, my arm through yours and my head on your shoulder. Smell of wet earth and sounds of traffic in the distance. Bats and birds and stars and moon and breezes and sighs. Companionable silence and music in my head.
What? Imagination is good therapy too.
3 comments:
and very good therapy at that!
silence and music.. i love that part the best....
mo
Very Poignant precious.........is this what they call "the pregnant words of a poet".......*Thus he smiles in idyllic abandon*
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