The two of us warmed by a bold beam of light that wicks the moisture from my dress, my hair, and my skin—returning it to the sky where it promises to find me again in the form of dew, snow, or rain.

I'm with him, and he's with me, and that's the way it's meant to eternally be.

The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire

Somewhere in the crowd was at least one potential friend who'd understand the fundamental value of goofing off. Because if not, how boring would that be?

No: What the heck happened? Or: Why did you go from nearly kissing me to tossing me across your yard and into the patio furniture?

There is an old and very wise Native American saying: Every time you point a finger in scorn—there are three remaining fingers pointing right back at you.

No matter what happens, we'll always be together, always find a way to locate each other. No matter which guise my soul decides to wear, I will always return to you. Just like I always have returned to you.