they sit sidebyside on a worn bench, their feet bare and covered in sand, stars coming into view overhead. they're not as silent as they seem. their driedflower voices speak of fading memories and forgotten dreams; of times so long past that no other could remember them nor would want to. they speak softly, voices smothered by the heartbreaking sound of waves forever crashing unto the sand. as they speak, with their paperthin hands tightly clutching each other, the wrinkles fade away, years pass. everything is as it never was.
i know that it is probably foolish of me, but i cannot help but hope that this is how they will remain till the end - that their fragil