Lamppost

Creamy brushstrokes paint a delicate haze across the horizon, the sunrise awakens from its slumber across this half of the hemisphere. And glitter falls in golden swirls, dancing upon the air. This dirt road I've walked down ten thousand times before, feels like coming home to an old friend. Memories seep in through the broken pieces of who I am, slowly at first, then all at once. That feeling someone is behind you lingers, now merely a wish upon a star swallowed by the sunrise. How is it such sadness was created to coexist with such beauty?

Across a green pasture, out of nowhere, there stands an old lamppost. Nature has ravaged it's once ornate surface, yet the rust gleams as golden stained glass window panes against a background of dew drops. Resting at it's base, a book left years ago, falls open. The words faded as ink has turned to black cobwebs so intricately designed, no other but the hands of time could have written what remains. Reading between the lines, there is poetry. This exquisitely delicate story comes to life, and as the bindings of the book crumble between my fingertips, pages upon pages unfold. And I wonder, who last touched this book? Looking up, the lamppost offers the most unexpected answer. A name has been etched into the light, so faint it is barely nothing more than outlines. Yet it is real. And it's presence will forever haunt my imagination.

A love story can begin anywhere. It is in the most ordinary of places, we often find the most extraordinary words. All that is left to do in those moments, is pick up the pen, and start writing...