Whispers of a winter song

Fayre’s song to Adam

I’m lying awake as the night pour into the day,

Dreading the winter to come because you’ll go away,

I just hold onto the three seasons in my tears,

The only reality of you ever being here,

While I cling onto your words to stroke the pain away,

Were you, oh, were you ever real?

So, I sing you a song for your frozen heart,

While I search for your eyes in every lost face when you part,

As my strings send you the missing lyrics of my words,

Yet, I don’t even know the words of my own song,

Then I just wait, oh I wait

Whoa I’ll wait, wait for you

I long for your smile, oh, it must be like crack,

Boy, I know that we were never on the right track,

I’m an addict of a drug I have not even tasted,

Yet, the taste of your presence I have never seen wasted,

It’s four a.m. and I’m still pondering over the pages,

The ones you wrote in my only worthy memories,

So, I sing you a song for your frozen heart,

While I search for your eyes in every lost face when you part,

As my strings send you the missing lyrics of my words,

Yet, I don’t even know the words of my own song,

Then I just wait, oh I wait

Whoa I’ll wait, wait for you

As your whispers of long promises give me hope,

The strings of my violin scream the words of my diary,

My bare feet walk a single-line letter to you in the sand,

My thoughts are imprisoned in my hidden desires

So, I sing you a song for your frozen heart,

While I search for your eyes in every lost face when you part,

As my strings send you the missing lyrics of my words,

Yet, I don’t even know the words of my own song,

Then I just wait, oh I wait

Whoa I’ll wait, wait for you

Hoping my silent expression is no victim of exposure,

As the words escape me, they no longer have to be endured,

You are the missing lyric to my unending song,

So, I keep singing a melody for your frozen heart,

I don’t stop searching for your eyes in every lost face once you part,

Allowing my strings to expose the lost lyrics of my words,

Yet, I don’t love the words of my longest song,

Should I just wait? Oh wait

Whoa could I just wait? Wait for you

The proposal

Thingvellir National Park, Iceland, 1944.

Axel suddenly hits the breaks on the rental bike out of the blue, causing me to come to an immediate stop.

“What’s wrong?” I stare at him wide eyes, looking for any injuries on him.

“I can’t wait any longer. I have to do this now.” He scratches that head of hair, his forehead shiny and his blue button-up, linen shirt soaked through. He lets go of the bike, letting it drop in the dust. I cough.

“Axel? Are you really that unfit? I need to get you to exercise more.” I chuckle, rubbing my clammy palms on my bare knees.

He almost trips over his bike, stumbling his way over to me. I frown. 

“Axel, what is going on?” My tone that of a mother catching her toddler drawing on the walls.

He pats his pockets, searching for who knows what.

“Oh noI lost it.” His face becomes stone-like, color escapes those flawless features at once.

“Lost what?” As I say the words, both our eyes catch find a little red velvet box in common. My head snaps up, looking at him. His eyes slowly travel towards mine. 

I let out an incredulous gasp, throwing my hand over my wide open mouth.

“Adah, willwill you…” He stutters, clearing his throat. Wiping his hands on his pants, he scratches his head again. 

“Yes! Yes, of course!” I throw my bike down and dive him into the ground.

“No, stop it. You have to let me finish.” He says through his teeth, cupping his hands around my shoulder and helping me up to a sitting position.

He wipes the dust off my dress and then pulls his soaked shirt away from his chest. 

“You can’t take a proposal back. I already said yes.” I kneel down back down to level with that set of eyes.

“And I haven’t proposed yet. Now stand back up.” He orders.

“Fine.” I flutter my eyelashes and throw my hand on my hip.

“My sassy girl.” He smiles. “I love you.” He gazes up into my eyes and then pauses for a few seconds, taking the moment in. “For the first time, I’m not scared of growing old anymore. In fact, I want to grow old as fast as I can, because fifty years from now I will love you fifty times more. I will have known you fifty years longer and fifty years better. Will you make me the happiest and luckiest man alive by becoming my wife?” My eyes linger on the spark in his eyes.

I look upon a face of perfection and realize that I have never been happier than this momentright here. I allow my knees to collapse as I fall hopelessly into his arms. I have always been such a hopeless romantic and believe that this moment could not have been more perfect.

“Is that a yes?” He warm breath brushes along the length of my.

“Yes. Of course it’s a yes.”  

He pulls my head against his chest and I feel the vibrations of his heart beating faster against my ear. He kisses the top of my head repeatedly until I pull away to look at my ring.

“A pearl.” I burst back into tears. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered. It was on our first date when you told me diamonds make you think of money and pearls make you think of romance. You were wearing a white linen, button-up dress, your hair loose and a mess I might add. You tried hairspray for the first time.” He chuckles, slipping the ring onto my finger and sighs relieved.

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“The most beautiful romance stories are those of the people we know.” ~Jean-Maré Gagliardi