Reading

You’re waiting for me to write you

I recognize that feeling

but I’m quietly reading in the library

in front of city shrouded in layers of gray

huddled houses of gray tone with the subtlest touch of green

red tiled roofs that have become brown

and a couple of pale green needles

that of the City Hall and the Saint Francois Cathedral

beyond the mountains have been erased by a dark gray mist

flakes of ice are swirling in the air, not the work of a storm

but a counter storm, northern winds so powerful

they freeze you underneath your clothes

the sky should be clear with this sort of winds

but I suppose that in the middle of winter’s depth

shreds of clouds are always lurking nearby

 

Memories surge to my mind

happy times when I was inspired and hopeful and dreaming

trying to come up with a reply to your valentine’s poem about doors

letting words and images flow from my pen while writing Lausanne’s story

intense moments of connection with nature

and the joy of reading and plunging into a fantasy story I’ve rediscovered

letting yourself carried into a different world, smiling and laughing and crying and waiting in anticipation there

away from the dull reality surrounding us, imagining you identifying yourself with Shallan and I with Kaladin, but still open to the perspectives of all characters

dreaming of when we will be able to create our own world together

 

I feel you’re not very far anymore

I can almost sense you again

Don’t vanish with the haze

Remain and let the fire in your heart

guide me toward you

 

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