comfyquiet

In you I’m lost.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops – at all -

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me.

These memories recede As quietly as they surface. Faint traces of distant moments Tinged with bitterness and sweet mirth.

Memories of shared company, Of laughter and togetherness. As companions imprint on each other Trinkets of words, actions and kinship. Until insecurities engulf their intentions in fire, And all the fragile trinkets lay scorched in dust.

Sometimes our people slowly disappear, As wax fades from a burning candle. And all that's left is an empty space Full of singed memories. But there is sapience here amongst the quiet. That all good things come to pass And what once was, was truly good.

People fade, memories remain.

I keep your secrets where I keep your promises but you need my confessions about as much as you need my lies

Well, you never knew exactly how much space you occupied in people’s lives. Yet from this fog his affection emerged – the best contacts are when one knows the obstacles and still wants to preserve a relation.

A cloud without you is only a clod.

It’s quite a company. It’s quiet company.

Even then, more than a year earlier, there were neurons in her head, not far from her ears, that were being strangled to death, too quietly for her to hear them. Some would argue that things were going so insidiously wrong that the neurons themselves initiated events that would lead to their own destruction. Whether it was molecular murder or cellular suicide, they were unable to warn her of what was happening before they died.

And her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.

If I always told you the truth, I wouldn’t need you to trust me.