Thursday, September 08, 2005
She sits and waits.
She is pretty
Like the beautiful dawn of dusk.
But underneath her skin,
She is like a shattered mirror.
Her heart ripped.
Day after day she sits on the bench.
She sits and waits for hope.
He watches her from afar.
Day after day,
He stands looking at the beauty on the bench.
He is happy looking at her.
But he wants to hold her hand,
He wants to sit with her,
He wants to tell her his love for her.
He walks up to her.
He sits and smiles.
She smiles and laughs.
He holds her hands.
He is her hope.
Saw an old couple walking hand in hand. As the sun started to set, their grey hair glistened in the rays. As the evening breeze blew gently, the old lady shivered and her husband rubbed her shoulders warmly. As they continued walking on in their own slow pace, they were talking and looking lovingly at each other. Such beauty isn’t it? Amidst the chaotic and troubled world there is still such small beautiful things that brings forth hope.
hazel
11:52 PM
