The old oak tree stands tall as they lay beneath it, on the cold autumn leaves. If it wasn't for the wind to assure him, he'd think it is all but a dream. An old story on what used to be a white page, before time left it's yellow prints all over. But he's not dreaming anymore, he can not be.
She's there but they can't touch each other. They touch, but they don't feel a thing. Her long blond hair, her green eyes the color of topaz, her fresh white-pink lips. They're all there right in front of him, but he can not see. Just as she can not feel his warmth while his arms are around her, neither the passion he puts into every kiss on her cold neck.
They are but ghosts, to one another. Both real, both fantasy. Two souls that don't exist together.
The old oak tree, stands tall.
Love,Just.
It's a real tragedy to be in their shoes. Beautiful words.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much
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