Window sills, ink blots, and home-made hearts

it wasn't loud
just enough to make you question if you heard anything at
all

just like the wind that dances through the trees on it's way home

just like the sun that sits quietly on your window sill while you write

just like all the words you choose to wisper instead of shout

just like the leaves that have turned to gold and decide to fall with too much elegance

just like our home-made hearts that I found in that dusty old attic

just enough to make you question if you heard anything at 

all

❤

it's been too long
i like writing