Sunday, November 4, 2012
....One shot and he was drunk, he called Her Brandi. Sweet like maple, She was Canadian. A model of perfection; born mixed, but his feelings for Her weren't mixed, they were meant. Both lost in a storm of bad relationships, caught up in a hurricane of hurt, left drifting on a cold tide of salty emotions. But sure as the sun sets, there is always light in the horizon and it is Her that makes his light bright. Message in a bottle, he hoped She'd get the message. Time heals and what feels, feels even better when the weather is cloudless and the cries are loud less. In his letter he mentions, written with just eight letters he vents it, the diction, that gives him reason to still believe in Dreaming.