the delicate prayer.

And so, the silence hung in the air,
not like a humid, evening fog
but more so a snowflake swooping through the air
before it makes its tender embrace with the earth.

No words needed to be said because
everything to be conveyed
was recognized in between the lines
of nonverbal cues:
the interlocked gaze
the simplest touch
the heartbeats finding tempo.

History rewrote as all the pains
of an imperfect past were
washed away.

A cleansing from a mutual joy
that brought the purest white
from the most crimson of red.


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