The night hosts a sea of darkness as we hide in the pause of our prolonged purgatory. Resting place of the weary. Haunting grounds of waiting souls.
"Are you cold?", you ask, straining to sit closer.
"Not at all," I whisper knowing no sound will bridge the barren space around you.
(It must have been so hard for you. We were so unhappy. )
Tears course down your soft cheeks. What can I do but hold you?
"I'm happy. I've always been so happy."
And the night watches, cradling my lies, forgiving me my inconsistencies.