it does. You can hear the whisper of it. Circular. Heavy. Organic. Even in sterility's deep embrace. Even there. As deep as the world.
It is here, and there, and fills the voids between voids with sweet soliloqual advances. Can you hear it's stoic siren call?
Would you let it make love to you? Fill you like the chasmic sweetness of a mother's embrace? Could you?
Silence breathes. Like no other. And, my friends, it always will. Regardless of the time or the place, silence will always end the race.
Events and happenings.
Love may never fail, but it can take it's leave at any time it chooses to. Other times it merely wants to change some how.
Do I still love him? With great strides. Would I still care for him? Invariably? Have I or we come to the conclusion of activities? No.
but. Are we on the same footing we were on when we began? Not quite. My dear readers, there are friends, and then there are Friends. He will be my most ardent Friend. Confidant. Poetic muse. It hurts me, and it hurts him as well. But, it must be what it is. Shed a tear for that, for we will shed many. Paying the interest due for many happy times and circumstances. Never will this die, but that does not promise a bloodless story.
Salud angel, salud.