Friday, February 9
and there played a silent song, one which no one could hear but themselves. it's a song they share, a song with no words and no music but only lined with the delicate sounds of felicity. there was a spring in the step, no one else really could quite understand why. suddenly even being made to wake up at unearthly hours didn't even seem to be a bad thing. no matter, if being awake feels better than to stay asleep and dream.
and it was thus the plain became beautiful, the silence was filled and all the air, pollutants and glasshouse gases notwithstanding, so fresh and clean.
and this is where the wanderer, helped along nicely by incomprehensible forces, has indeed found his home. in the unlikeliest corner of the world, which stood no further than a stone's throw from his own little backyard when he had been in vain searching far and wide. and it is here where he fully intends to stay from now on, leaving his vagrant days and wandering ways firmly behind. it's a new life to get used to, but he sees no other outcome but unparalleled success and unbridled joy..
..just being lost with his own true love.