Little things can mean so much; a look, a word, a gentle touch.
A film we loved to watch together; the way we’d run no matter the weather;
The way we’d talk and laugh for hours about the silliest of things;
The way we’d dream as we lay together, the love songs that we used to sing
out of key, but we didn’t care. The love I felt as I stroked her hair
as gently as the rain that fell upon our window pane at night
when cats were curled at our feet and hearts, when comes the fading amber light
where peace and love were all around us in the dark.
Little things that we were sure would always be the things we’d treasure more
than any promise the future could bring. And when I close my eyes, I hear her sing
to me from far away; from fields and towers where lovers lay
watching films and smiling at kittens, under soft warm blankets; holding on and never missing
a moment of joy. That girl and this boy, living for the little things.
KB on Taormina KB on Breath michaelpoetry on Something … KB on Something … michaelpoetry on Something …