some nights should be held close in a snow globe, words swirling around gently like flakes, settling down after a while; clarity left visible in the stillness. we rest together in the peace and comfort of truths spoken out loud as the glass slowly fogs to opaque. the bottles empty. the cd changes. the words pick up again, shaking out our world with more truth, more flakes catching the flicker of the ferries passing by in the rain.
but the real victory is, for perhaps the very first time, the words not ready to be spoken, truths not ripe to be understood, rest patiently in the spaces between the now still snowflakes. they are comfortable knowing that one day they too will be tossed into the air and allowed to give voice to the life already lived out between us.
one day. not today.
until then, some nights, we should hold each other close inside a snow globe, care swirling around gently like flakes, settling down after a while; love left visible in the stillness.
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