onomatopoeia

It’s a low sound, like a rumble, the flutter of thousands of wings flocking together like dark waves across the dusky skies. I like to imagine those waves inside your heart as I lay my head on your chest at night.

Their movements like an avalanche, individual particles linked to their closest neighbours. It’s not by design, and it’s not coincidental. A fleeting moment, maybe seconds or maybe minutes. You can only hope it lasts for a little while longer.

I’m in a daze, struck by the way the world can be so beautiful. And that’s enough.