Destitute Discourse.

Photographer: Phillip Le. (:
There's one of the sky that I like x]: not good but still!

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The air was crisp and fresh as the wind cooed softly, melodiously swirling the loose hairs from my head in motion with its murmurs. Faint steps were carried with the wind as we plodded our way down the wooden deck; it stretched out into the black waters, which lapped against the pillars in utmost harmony, and radiated with reflected the pastel lights of the scene above it. Boats heaved to and fro in sync with each other, and their lights bounced off the waters like swarms of variously coloured fireflies at twilight hour.

We'd settled down at a comfortable spot near the end of the pier, and bubbles of conversation burst from various corners of the odd circle we'd placed ourselves in. I inhaled slowly, and exhaled again as I refrained from conversation... the two beside me had their focus turned elsewhere anyway. I listened to the wood creak slightly as I eased myself onto the deck, and I opened my eyes to the blanket of sky in the middle of the night.

The stars were as scattered as I'd felt; they were shrouded by a lumpy mist that stretched across the sky, much like the texture of an untouched desert, where shallow crevices paralleled each other over dunes of parched sands. The stars were the tiny diamonds of the barren plains of the sky. They glimmered ever so elegantly... it instantaneously reminded me of a rare quote I'd found in a friend's going away autography book: good friends are like stars. You can't always see them, but they're always there...

I felt your presence beside me as I listened to the soft swishing of the water beneath me, imagining its pathways, encircling the pillars which drank from a neverending source of salty replenishment. The wooden deck ached until you spread yourself evenly between the planks, exhaling softly as you rested your head on the wood. Your camera fell and rose on your chest to your momentous breathing, until you lifted it daintily to your face, pointing its lens to the starry night.

"I'm too tired to talk..." I strained my voice in the most sincerest hope that you wouldn't take it the wrong way... that I was far too emotionally and physically drained to make some decent conversation with you, despite my obvious longing to. You said nothing, and continued to take pictures of the cloudy night.

Even then, I'd started a conversation. I'd wanted to talk, despite my empty barrel, once filled with so many words at the beginning of the week... I'm empty, and yet I still let droplets of phrases escape my lips.

LOL, Sarah.
Been a while since I posted something like this.. a story. (:

PS: I still miss you interstaters dearly... RCV from Adelaide... A from Perth...