Dear whispers,

have you ever listened to the starlight? i can hear her sing of things i'd never dreamed of. she told me that she woke up to the most beautiful shade of bruised purple against stark white in the sunset splattered sky. i just thought you should know. i miss watching her with you.

love, Silence.



---

Dear secrets,



you hide in the shadows of ebony trees in twilight and dance across the valleys of the darkest hour. I wonder if you're wearing an invisible cloak, or maybe that is just my mind running wild. You tiptoe across the creaks of the wooden stairs of imagination and wish on fallen snowflakes in the darkest corner of the attic, you watch the bright city with a smile and you light it up in flames with a single candle. 


you hide in the crooks and wheels and turns of my grandpa's watch and you strike at the most unexpected hours.



from a black and white lighthouse in the midst of thunderstorms.

---

Dear Thunderstorms,



I saw you above the clouds once. Rain and thunder coming from the moon, like a parade of angel songs. Your words are like whispers on my windowsill, thunder coming every hour on the hour. Just like the Morse code resonating from my heart. It beats with the rhythm of the lightning and rain.



Held by starlight, Secrets.

Dear silence,

I can hear you in my bedroom. When all my lights are dimmed to nothingness maybe I pretend to be blind and I lean against the cool wall and try not to move at all. But we're always still moving and my shallow heart is still pumping blood into my veins bruised black and purple and I am still hurting oh so much. That is when I hear you, silence. Your sadness resonates like rain dripping down a deep and dark well.

It's just me.


Dear someone,


I wish I could hold you on that cold winter night, and breath deep for a moment. Just breathe deep. But I can't, and I'm not there. Some days rain falls like sun drops, and other days it falls on empty ears. I'm not sure where to look when the sun is setting.

Whisper in my ears, Secrets

Dear mysteries,

Maybe you've heard of the chirping of the midsummer crickets in the rose garden where you hide from the piercing truths and lies. Did you know, if you plus five to the number of times a cricket chirps in fifteen seconds, you'd get the degree of temperature in the chilly summer night? I want to go home but there are no lights.

From Darkness.