Unsatisfactory words .. .


He swept me off my feet and took me to the moon where we sat for hours every night. We looked down at the world and then at each other, and we wondered which was the illusion.

He was a dream inside a leather jacket. His smile hung from one corner of his mouth, something crooked, and it turned my solid heart to a molten mess that spread to my fingertips and my toes, and had me feeling tranquilized.

The songs he wrote were shotguns. He'd sing to me while dragonflies filled up the sky. His voice filled my head and turned the world into wonderful, psychedelic chaos.

Reality became a vision through an unsteady kaleidoscope and dreams became a recurring reality that I could not escape. Would not escape.

Why would I escape?

Is love a dream that escapes into reality? A loose ribbon of the mind that floats off into the sunshine and burns into something solid?

I don't know.

It's an unsatisfactory word, so we never spoke of it.

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