The Horizon was Made of Glass


Please read the work of a amazing writer.

Rampant and Golden

It wasn’t a dream.

You and I were standing on a beach.
The distant past was the sun.
The pulsating passion of the city
was the sea.

We stood face to face,
barefooted on the sand,
maybe a little bare-souled too.

I was looking at you,
at the perfection that the light
bouncing off the pristine blue
had created.

And then you spoke.
So I followed your cue.
We pulled stories from around us
as if they were kindling,
talked about previous lives
as if they were soft
enough to be painted.
You even showed me how
to hold the brush.

Our words danced around
in the wind, seasoned with salt
and loaded with so much meaning
it was hard by that point
even for the boats and their
silken, white-as-honesty sails
not to fall in love.

The colors were sinking.
The day was ending,
the breeze had been
emptying…

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