Q for quiet.

In response to the a to z challenge

What’s left to say when every word has been spoken
What’s left to do when our eyes  won’t open

-Golden Leaves, the passengers

You and me, by the sea, when the waves are roaring, calm in the violence.
The lullaby, of the sound, of the silence. You’re my hope, holding my hand in yours, the narrow tip of your finger, tracing over the knuckle and up my wrist. There is silence, between us.
You still my heart, on your shoulder, the feather of my hair pricking our skin, the sand trickling between our toes. One side of my body is on fire, and the water licks the sand, teasing, quiet, like you.

Your profile etched against the sky, brilliant eyes, lips tensed, curled into a smile.
A catch, to be released, a coil, eyelashes against the deep blue of the sky.
It’s so quiet.

I knew you, in the rocks, the waves, in how you lean back, the shoulders coiled, impatient contentment.
I knew you before we met, and what we could have been stares back at me, ghosts, clouds that take shape under our thumbs.

I lie alone, it’s all there, the sand, the sea and the clouds, yet my side is empty, I languish in the heat of the cold breeze that tease my skirts.
For a moment, I see your eyes hovering above mine, your hands planted on either side, the brilliance of your smile, poised over me, my breath caught in your brilliance.

Then I blink, it’s just clouds, a few scattered stars, and a tear that is soaked into the sand.


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