I saw the world as it is,
cried my soul away
Wrapped my skin in shadows
a gift, unto the night
Sunset is my dress
The moon holds what remains of my
soul
Falling stars and dew drops
few shimmers gone
unseen
The only silence found,
in the song of falling rain
Sunset colours caress me,
night, my stage
Whispers in the gloaming
from sweet cicadas
And still, I see the world
cry my soul to the moon

they say
the smallest acts of love
make the greatest difference.
the first thought is typically
a clasp to the hand,
a kiss on the cheek,
a small surprise of flowers or chocolates.
me:
a blanket.
my parents and siblings have all taken cat naps
and forgotten covers
when they've fallen asleep on the couch, the bed,
wherever they choose to lay down and drift.
and once i've covered them with an old blanket
sitting in the closet, waiting to be used,
i remember the little things.
romantic notions/acts/gifts
still hold romantic weight.
the smallest things
are what make the difference.
the safety of someone caring for you
in the most unexpected and minuscule moments.
falling asleep on the couch,
and without warning,
a cover resting over you,
a small semblance of home/safety/care.
that's how i picture love.