Sometimes I think that maybe if we had met at a different time, a different place, it wouldnt have come crashing down the way it did. Our story began in such tangled webs that we worked through to unravel and in the end I almost forgot you were the one holding the other end of the thread. You held my hands when they wouldnt stop shaking and I never let you cross the lines you were too scared to break and for a while there I almost thought it was easy. I’m sorry that you think of me as the sand that slipped through the cracks of your fingers when really I was the window that refused to break in the storm. You were the pouring rain to my wild breeze, and I hope you never forget the wind that carried you home
We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?
10 & 11 in sync