The sunset began to creep up over the horizon as the thunderstorm slowly tapered off and we were still sitting on the porch swing staring at the water puddles and the occasional car splashing by. The sunlight had a peculiar way of silencing the words that flowed so consistently from our lips. Yet I didn’t feel satisfied in your inability to truly open up.
And I find myself once again frustrated in another dead end that my incessant search for beauty always seems to take me. And I almost find it funny that my life revolves around seeking out beauty in every form, and yet beauty is something I will never hold in my hands, and will never be born from my hands.
And I find myself crashing down again as I’ve done so many times before, wishing for another time and place, wishing that I could again see your face. Wishing that there was more to life then dreaming and wishing.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The fleeting taste of something I’ll never know.
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