It started with a fire built with young leaves and the ink from my pen. Whether it is your fault or my own, our lives are intertwined in the flame. Still, the breath of our moon carries a message to us both; never offer up the slightest wave of shame.
Calling from the ground is the rain that found the wind that blew paper from my hands. A wind that practiced the religion of picking up pieces of broken hearts and throwing them back down, only to kiss their cries with a stampede of what they cannot understand.
A well thought out plan started out with a fire built with young leaves and the ink from my pen. It is not your fault, nor is it mine. If we can we ever stop listening to the winds that kiss the cries of our broken hearts, from the flame, we would come unentwined.
First line donated via the first line game. Special thanks goes to Jon Tobias for "It started with a fire". Thank you for letting me play. ;-{)