Drifting clouds

My dearest friend,

The one who has been through it all

Along my side. 

Together, as we rest on the beaten grass of my childhood home,

We lie gazing at the drifting clouds.

As we listen to the soft sound of the wind in the trees,

You begin to speak aloud.

You speak in a gentle whisper,

Unveiling the truth you’ve never told anyone before.

The warm feeling of honor from your truth washes over me, 

Engulfing my body in its warm embrace.

As the faint breeze slows to a still,

The distant sound of traffic fades away.

With the silent new bond evident in the space between us,

We continue to lie in the delicate grass of our childhood.