[Francis]
The view from this lonesome window hasn't changed much since you left.
With the crossing of calendar days seeing to every inch of this splendor,
It lingers on, untouched by all but the thinnest strands of borrowed time; beautifully still and endlessly so.
I've been keeping the doors cracked in hopes of seeing you again, if only to watch you pass by from behind the gaze of weathered horizons.
With the turning of battered clock hands comes a summer that never ends, a summer that harbors no regrets and a summer who in her days will make no amends.
As timeless as you are unapologetic, you are the sun that never sets.
When all roads lead to the same place, the drive is always in circles.
Close your windows; I still know where you live and you're not so far away, at least not anymore.
The earth's circumference is all there is between us; at arm's reach from you and where you stay.
At least this friendship says so. I still believe we're best friends.

[Mia]
Incessant streaks of opalescent hands traversing the dusky eaves.
I am relinquishing myself to the wistful zephyrs.
Embarking on traceless sojourns, sailing with warm visions and hazy passions.
Beyond the landscape of unread letters panning across fragmented angles,
awaits a gentle rustle fettered in dead silence, where the ebb and flow of cascading midsummer imprints never sleep.
We were dreamt in places when everything was at once unfamiliar yet uncharted.
Once a faint farewell has now safely returned.
And I cling to the bed frame patterns waiting behind achromatic glows as it gives birth to blinding streams of light.
Until the eve of the seventh, I stand by these rivers weaving interchanging fates.
The silken cord has been pulled and these earthy carpets will awaken to see another day.
Only then will I ever know that I am home. And I’m home.