AngelTear

There are songs in tears uncried. There are screams in eyelids shut, when weariness is a false consolation. The room is quiet, the pillow dry but the breath is uneven and the night alive in the heart. The cold slips under the covers, under the clothes, under the skin. Floating on a starless ocean and the unrest of waves, ready for a tempest that never comes; clinging to a distant horizon that never says goodbye.