No matter where it is that we go, it is that little walk we take in the end that counts. The moon is out, the stars are hidden in the haze of neon light. You and I walk down that empty road in silence that is as natural as breathing. The trees arch high over us like a loosely interwoven secret.
Your fingers brush against the back of my hand and my heart soars through the gap in the foliage above. Neither of us speak a word. But when we reach home, you place a hand on my waist as you open the door for me. Then I know these words mean nothing, and are redundant in the face of contentment.
Your fingers brush against the back of my hand and my heart soars through the gap in the foliage above. Neither of us speak a word. But when we reach home, you place a hand on my waist as you open the door for me. Then I know these words mean nothing, and are redundant in the face of contentment.
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