hirakuplz

Ah, my lost love, when will you come home? Have you lost your way? Have you forgotten the sight of my welcoming smile? My lost love, do you remember the lightning? We would sit on the cherry red chairs - or perhaps they were raspberry; remember how we used to argue over it playfully? - that my father built, watching the silvery fingers of God light up the sky. Do you remember the hot nights when midsummer storms would draw the entire street onto their porches, and we would call across to everyone, since everyone knew each other in that quaint little town, remarking on how beautiful the night was, dark and stormy and perfect? Do you, my los