All I have at the moment are disjointed thoughts and no clear view of where to run, as I crush my bones against the tide of historic walls etched with runes, rushing to me as a guilty moment that won't leave me until I am finished telling you how much I want to lie on your chest, to breathe in your scent.

Whilst I compare my regrets to the small joys of having your presence made of aether with the surprise of your emails, I suggest we have tea with Jove, and I shall hold a clover to remember you, after the rain, after the fog.

© Text by: Orlando Barahona

© Image by: Richard James/Flickr

Creative Commons License This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.