The lake was dark. We both knew it was there. The glistening, the gleaming, they fractured across its length, flickering through the leaves' shadows, large rocks, shrubs, and outlines. Swiftly concealing-revealing the glimpses of blinking silver light suggesting like shapes, ripples, and breaks. The creases that caused themselves to speak to us – that peculiar way. Through the folds in the winds and the water, visual voices display melody.
Silently it watched as we drove around its winding edges, passing occasional headlights. Bright and blinding interruption and the return of total darkness. My focused spotlight, sleepy and straightforward. Without love, without care, we let our lives roll across the asphalt, along fading yellow lines, at whatever miles per hour time would allow. Til death do us good, the living light of night make right the villains made this day, the lies we let lead these sorry feet into happy descent sorrowfully seen.
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