(no subject)
This lightening crashing - without a sound - thrashing against the bleakest of nights through air thickened with unfinished business - hopes left for dead. This lightening - such an instance of beauty - to be struck must be to be kissed by God. STRUCK DOWN, EARTH BOUND ARE WE WHO DWELL THE GROUND.
It speaks so loudly to the world, and yet so softly to my heart.
How do I envy thee? Let me count the ways.
Something is wrong...but he won't tell me. I keep getting shut out. Why...