Your Voice Is Wild And Simple. You

You Will Hear Thunder And Remember Me, And Think: She Wanted Storms.

The Whole Time I Was Hoping My Silence Would Fit Yours And Exclamation Marks Would Gently Float Across Time And Space So That Boundaries Would Be Crossed; The Whole Time I Was Praying You Would Read My Eyes And Understand What I Was Never Able To Understand. See, We Were Never About Butterflies. We’ve Always Been About Burning Stars. All About Us Is Unearthly And Radiant.

Today I Have So Much To Do: I Must Kill Memory Once And For All, I Must Turn My Soul To Stone, I Must Learn To Live Again. Unless ... Summer's Ardent Rustling Is Like A Festival Outside My Window.

And It Seemed To Me That There Were Fires Flying Till Dawn Without Number And I Never Found Out Things-those Strange Eyes Of His-what Colour? Everything Trembling And Singing And Were You My Enemy Or My Friend, Winter Was It Or Summer?

Natural Thunder Heralds The Wetness Of Fresh Water High Clouds To Quench The Thirst Of Fields Gone Dry And Parched, A Messenger Of Blessed Rain, But This Was As Dry As Hell Must Be. My Distraught Perception Refused To Believe It, Because Of The Insane Suddenness With Which It Sounded, Swelled And Hit, And How Casually It Came To Murder My Child.