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i never grabbed her hand or lay my head in her lap during the night bus ride home nor did it dawn on me the next stop could be the final before our departure i hurriedly wrote scripture with type “o” ink to the passing streetlights unaware if even her bowed head would catch a glimpse of the words silhouetted on her windowsill scrawled on a busy street they rested at her eye level ready for her lowered gaze upon the route she traveled endlessly

Another day ebbs slowly into twilight. The sweet sea breeze blows along the gentle grass covered hillside where it meets the white sand beaches. The moon peeks over the darkening horizon, illuminating the white sand and the two figures who sit upon it. Their silhouettes, cast in an eternal embrace, are etched upon the sand. A silent understanding, perhaps displayed through a sense of longing, reverberates louder then the waves crashing upon the shoreline. Their simple gaze runs deeper then an...