The voice is gentle. The voice embraces. And it passes throughout us, curled up in every little corner and sitting in every tiny closet. The words are intimate, in heart and body and mind, bringing every little tiny moment. “Feel your breathe beside me in my bed “All the sheets are tangled in my legs…” “You kissed all my tears “But my cheeks never dried.” “You know it’s harder when you hold me “You get me searching for the ceiling.” ...
We were friends and have become estranged. But this was right, and we do not want to conceal it from ourselves as if we had reason to be ashamed: the river gone is my friend. The river comes, the river goes, and yet when our paths crossed you stopped, and we celebrated and whispered together, and you held onto my skin as we rested so quietly in one harbor and one sunshine. But I looked back upstream, and our almighty forces drove us apart. We could fight the flow and tug of war the ...
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