Is love alive?

She sighed, that deep heavy-hearted sigh that always broke my heart. I waited for her to say something...and then, like a correlative to the silence came the rich strum of guitar chords that made my soul feel like a lit candle. She sang, her beautiful caged song. I listened to each note, each word, each breath she drank in like life itself to pour into the bronze darling she assuredly held in her lap. The words came as if she had written them herself.
This is my winter song to you. The storm is coming soon, it rolls in from the sea.

Yes, as the snow falls down the impending misery of the storm she faces and tries to hide me from smothers me. But in my mind, the snow continues to fall, each individual said six sided flake glistens before it catches itself on my eyelashes. And I am caught by an unbelievable realization that I am speaking to my bosom friend, while staring at static ceiling fans and knowing that, impossibly, snow is fluttering down outside the curtains of my warm solace. And each flake that falls reminds me of a time when she is who she used to be. Before she felt she had to apologize for the person she became. Before he tainted her with his second glances.
My voice; a beacon in the night. My words will be your light, to carry you to me.

Your voice is the beacon of the night. Your words are my light. You carried me to you and to freedom. You allowed me to experiment with my wings that I had no idea had grown underneath my costume. I remember when we painted the massive ply-board with fall trees and a fluent mixture of purples and blues. I remember naming Muse, she inspired me to name trees. She inspired me to see them as more than beauty, but as representations of people. She inspired me to treasure people, but to understand that there would only be a few that treasured me back.
Is love alive? Is love alive? Is love

It is alive. It is alive. It is alive. I feel it pulsing through my heart with memory.
They say that things just cannot grow beneath the winter snow, or so I have been told.
You're laying on the winter's floor, surrounded by candles you wish you could become. You're purple and blue like our painting. But you'll find a way to rise again, and perhaps its by taking care of me. But remember dear, remember when we stayed up all night on the phone with notepads because we relished the others freshness of mind. Remember when we didn't feel obligated to write those things, but we treasured it. I'm alright if it never happens again, but I still have the notes.

They say were buried far, just like a distant star I simply cannot hold.

You have buried yourself far, you are the distant star, but I thank God you let me hold you. My precious dull yellow emitted from a mysterious piece of stone. Remember when you fell asleep to my song? When I held you as you cried, so thankful you could still cry. When I fell down and scraped my knees and my palms because the wolf I loved so much bit me. When the lion you loved so much growled with anger and cornered you as you took his beating. When we burned what we didn't want to remember.

Is love alive? Is love alive? Is love alive?

It is alive. It is alive. It is alive. I feel it pulsing through my veins with an intensity.
This is my winter song. December never felt so wrong, cause youre not where you belong; inside my arms.

You're right...I belong in your arms because I love you. Because it's what you deserve. And your voice carries all the ache that the song emits. No one is where they belong...they've all left your cold arms that die now on the pavement, automatically reaching out but cutting themselves off in the process to keep from causing anyone else discomfort.
I still believe in summer days. The seasons always change and life will find a way.

And remember when we sat on the dock and lost our coffees and wrote furiously though all I wanted was to be close to your heart again. And then we laughed and smiled and you were okay. And that was all I wanted so I could feel okay again. One day we will spend several hours and weekends at the beach walking along the shore and finding treasures. One day the earth will be in bright blues and we can run barefooted in white dresses over the rich moist grass. And life, and you, will find a way.
Ill be your harvester of light and send it out tonight so we can start again.

I love you. I love you. I don't want to start again, I want to continue. I want you the way you are. Broken, mangled, still pleading that I take care of myself and not you. I don't want life the way it was. I just want to stay as you figure yourself out once more. To break down your walls, and watch you threw your windows to make sure you're alive. To play in the snow and the relish the rain.

Is love alive? Is love alive? Is love alive?

Love is alive. Love is alive. I feel it stinging in my heart with it's previous misunderstanding.

This is my winter song. December never felt so wrong, cause youre not where you belong; inside my arms. This is my winter song to you. The storm is coming soon it rolls in from the sea. My love a beacon in the night. My words will be your light to carry you to me.

I love you regardless of anything and everything.


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Love is alive.