to be alone with you

Whether it's being still again with Sufjan Stevens;

reading the pixellated notes which express what matters; what the heart aches for; what changes lives, and gives today hope for someone whose day has known nothing but confusion;

looking back over files; folders; documents; reams; which try to express what you... well;

a rain shower which rings back to a time, a downpour on the grassy banks of a valley where things were very much connected and alone, didn't mean alone so much as, still;

alone with you.


The times we stop and wonder if there's work to be done on what's passed; to sort, to solve, to mull over, process, learn from, prevent from happening again; don't always happen when I'm [literally]
on my knees;

but rather when, breathing deeper than before, I come to know that it'll be alright. And more than that, that it'll be miraculous, and it'll be growth, and it'll be love which pushes ahead. As abstract as that, and no less clichéd.

To be alone with me.