Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Like the breeze from my window touches me incompletely
and I diffuse, only half-ly, into slow moving frames of us.
Like pieces of me remain, time-trapped, in this moment
doomed to watch us from a distance in soft bokeh lights.
Like you were a dream I almost had, before dreams started to vaporize
These are foggy times. Dark. With only the illusion of a sun.
It will never warm us, love. It will shimmer in the distance,
reminding us of what we were made of,
hope and love,
and broken sighs.
It does not matter. The length or breadth or depth of what we feel.
Thought is redundant, as are we.
Our lives, our songs, as lost as the love that once was
or was allowed to be.
You know, you and I, were the cosmos once.