Maybe the clouds will open up and we will be bathed in a golden light, a voice of Heaven, the Creator, rains down like a smile and open arms, speaking the one thing we both wish to hear so desperately. We can be together, we can run in a field of daisies and scream out love to the stars until our lungs collapse and we become a jumbled laugh and limbs that only fit one another. When the world cries for our blood we will grin for God Himself has told us we are going to be okay, we are not wrong, we can be what we are meant to be and fulfill our brightest prayer of being together for as long as the earth continues onward. Maybe, one day, a dream will be granted.
But, here I lay, face to dirt that turns to mud, begging for the clouds to open.