ElijahRiverflow

The proof is in the tasting. Proofing, proofing he wondered how could he do that. His love that is. How on earth could he proof that. He sat down in front of his desk and grabbed a piece of paper. A poem? Too cliché. A song? No he couldn't sing. So he dipped his quill in ink and wrote down these exact words: Yes, it was him who was writing these words. Trying to proof, in his awkwardness, that he indeed loved her. No that he loves her. He couldn't word it. Or so he thought while continuing to write lines and words. He couldn't see his writing very well. He had to be silent, no one could hear him write and light could not shine from h

The wind rises. Higher and Higher. Taking me with her towards unknown land. Flying towards a dream. That sun on the horizon. Carried by the flow. I walk through air. The wind rises. Faster and Faster. Taking me with her. Will we ever land?

A new hope a fresh start. Leaving behind memories. The bad ones and the good. Making no distinction. A new hope a new start. Will you follow me?