The Echo of a Falling Star

Retrospective on a marriage

A glimmering perfect star, a gleaming gem displayed on velvet. When did you begin to fall and carve across our darkness?

Baptized by stardust on a honeymoon in Hawaii: we missed the luau, wore only double orchid leis in the sand, found the rhythm of distant Pahu drums.

Now, we are silhouettes etched in pitch black, always hammering nails flush with our hearts, tracing scar tissue left by the cuts of diamond-sharp regrets.

Sitting on the covered porch, falling stars echo behind cloud cover. The rain whispers improvisations across time, as close to silence as a drum brush sweeping across the head.