Halfway home in the hilltop trees,
And all our footprints in the snow,
And the evening glow, leaving.

Driving the car with Iron and Wine playing. Windows down, wind blowing. A certain heartache. A certain loving feeling.

It's late evening. The sky is grey, ready to open up. Iron and Wine still flirting with the ears as an omlette is made. It's not perfect, but this is how it is preferred.

Eating with the lights off, simply because there's just enough light outside that the inner light isn't really needed. Drinking milk from a plastic cup, eating the omlette from a plastic plate. Sitting alone, but thinking of someone. Still feeling that heartache, yet feeling loving all the same.

I wake besides you on the floor,
Counting your breathing.

Content, full.

The sky opens up.

Sitting and pondering. Iron and Wine still playing.

A glance at the dog. A glance outside.

"Boe, come on!"

The porch doors swing open.

There she runs, in her black dress, her dog hot on her heels. She's running in the rain because no one else is around, and she feels so free and alive. She likes the scent, the way it hits her skin, only to melt and run under the heat of it.

After a while, she sits beneath the tree, the dog still at her side. Her fingers skate along his sides, and his tongue brushes along them in turn.

This is contentedness. This is freedom.

Because I can't see nothing in this half moon,
Lay me down if I should lose you.

There is nothing more romantic than this; simply living life

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This was in my diary, but I've posted it in its own separate blog for safe keeping. I don't like letting good memories like this go.