Clair de Lune brought him home

Today’s beach sunrise foretold amorous sumptuous colour, promised freedom. A rendezvous of words erupted, inside her mind, vying for attention, muffling her view. Viola shushed her inner narrator.

Her happy-mask clinched together by pillars of hope, concealed what she was, even through her phantom sleep. But even her footprints missed him.

They looked at the same moon, the same stars… though he was far from view. Time had stretched like flabby-grey elastic, exhausted, sad, waiting. She wrestled with the ache of him, longing for proximity, a tear smuggled its way out. Now they had found the exit, would the tears ever cease?

Soft piano, Clair de Lune, conspired with the sea to weave a chord of contentment she hadn’t met. His voice hovered in the wind, entwined in the spaces of the song. Wafts of his soul swept past the plateaus, over the towering rocks, ascended the darkness, before the sun’s lofty aspirations arose.

Viola chased slender threads of meaning, her hunger fierce, demanding. She’d bridled her devotion too long. Her heart heightened in cadence with the swell and the song, curling, piping, dancing, uprising, as her ears pursued one mellifluous sound. His voice.

He kissed the tears from her eyes. His feet had followed the moon. Her heart billowed with relief and a plethora of emotions she couldn’t speak. He was here, safe.

The sunrise prospered, wondrous kaleidoscopic clouds grew, indescribable, vital, beyond beautiful. The brightest sun ever seen; a mere candle, eclipsed by the hymn of love, of him. His eyes whispered gentle thoughts of a love deeper than the Earth, of naked fearless joy. He was home. She could breathe.

He reached for her hand as the sun glowed vows of blissful fusion.

Powerful message, holding hands, love, a better life, how to be HappyWords and photo ©love, happy, wonderful, amazing,

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