A Quiet Love

The world spins, and we spin with it. The ice on the glass frosts over like a lattice of creeping fingers, seeking the cold and fearing the sun. The ground grows hard, and the apples are gathered and stored, as the earth turns sharply to a waste of water and ice. We lie in the dirt as the wind howls above, shrieking the names of the lost to the empty skies, without a single response from the grey clouds above. Our fingers are spread over the jagged rocks as the moon rises from the water, carrying the acrid scent of burning wood, like a house of leaves, jealous of the sun, for it is far more fair than she. The cold air stings like a bustle of bees, and our breaths leave in plumes of stolen soul. The world is lonely here, and we stand on the shoulders of giants. The horizon seems so far away, but reaching out a hand, I can almost touch it. The world is quiet, and we stand in silence, watching as it all burns away.

Under the moon and the sun, two hearts beat as one.