After the winds of the cold north ravaging
the south this time, hit by the worst storm in its history,
had passed by in the left overs of the moment of being all desolate barren ground
words came back slowly trickling into my tired consciousness
‘love cannot be forced or won
one has to be patient and hope for it to return
or be worn proudly as the honour it is,
as if it had never been gone’
So after all that has happened, whether too late or out
of irrepairable loss this must be told to you
None but you are love
I know
having learned by weathering its storm.
having learned by weathering its storm….. beautiful