Quiet

I miss the late nights we used to have, the sounds around you.

When we would sit in silence by the wicked man and just listened to the gentle whispers of the wheat dancing in the wind, only for you to break it with the click of your zippo, turning your cigarrette on.

The sound of the crackles as you smoked it, giving me another so I could get close to you and turn it on with the ember of yours, still on your mouth, glowing like a lantern in the dark.

The late chats, the laughters in the middle of nowhere.

The time stood still, like the world was holding its breath at your arrival.

How you will always break the silence singing the same song, your favourite song.

It was by your side I first understood what looking at the sun felt like, so dangerous and dazzling to your eyes you shouldn’t do it, yet so mesmerising.

When you left, the world lost its shine.

No more late night, no more cigarettes by the wheat, no more sunflower field trips at 3am in the morning.

Not with you anyway.

The world was quiet, the wicked man never sang to me again.

It has been years.

And I still can’t listen to the song, every motorbike reminds me of you, I smoked every cigarrette hoping yours would pop by the side of my vision, get close to my ember to and turn it on so you could blow your smoke at my face, laughing.

It has been years, and the world doesn’t have that shine it used to do with you, but there are certain times, certain people that make the silence a bit less quiet.

I know you would love them as much as I do.

They are my ember in the dark.