Baskadia

you are.

when it seems like the moon won't shine anymore—you will be my torch, you are.

when the storm starts blowing the breezy grass of home—you will be my blowing wind, so calm and smooth, you are.

if my muscles won't work as they were able before —you will be my perpetual strength to go forward, you are.

if my soul won't reach you the way my heart did—I will ask the heavens to bring you back to me as if you were like a diamond in the rough, so precious, so sophisticated, you are.