She was a thunderstorm, always drenched in a cloak of thunder.
He had the heart of guitar strings, always marching to his own beat.
She hid in the shadows of her own sunshine.
He longed for her to abandon her shadows and run away with him.
Run away to the fields that rolled for miles. Not a cloud in sight and no where to hide.
Just the clothes on their back and the passion in their heart.
A quiet place where he would build her a place to call her own.
A patch of ground for a garden so that her clouds could rain down on them,
a warm wood stove to boil the cold rain out of her veins,
a chair in the corner so that she could hid from her fears.
She hid in the shadows of her own insecurity.
She longed to abandon her shadows and run away with him, she was scared and unsure.
Her clouds loomed over her with so much pressure and darkness, that she almost forgot what sunshine felt like. And the sun forgot the look of her face.
But she loved him and he loved her, although they had never met.
So she ran, ran away from the thunderstorm and raced to meet him.
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