I still hear the echo of us walking in those streets,

You, lost and blinded by an answered prayer, walking tall and confident, beautiful above an island of strangers that allowed us to take their time away,

Me, hanging on to your warm left wrist, needing your pulse to make sure I was awake in a moment I wasn’t meant to live.

Us, careless in that foggy happiness, joyful in the rain, telling secrets. It was our truth and we loved it, free, chasing darkness out of our hearts, bringing eternal longings to and end.

I was leaning towards your soft cold skin into your embrace, breathless by an awakening into a deeper dream. It was like holding her into my arms again, in that last summer, her warmth touching my heart as you were, no skin, no flesh, we’re one, and this time there’s no end… I see no end! I see no end!

There are a few hours in the world when we are both awake and we build and travel to new cities, holding hands in new streets, lights everywhere, it’s all just one story, the same embrace, in a white house, from which we never parted.

We are living, not just surviving, glorious, under all the Suns, and now we both take a second longer to look at things.

It’s the second that brought you to me, the second between dreams and reality, between our minds and our bodies. The second of pure awareness.

Oh, my almost lover, it’s the stories that killed us, the words, the easiness, when the whole world tilted and started going backwards.

I traced a map of our lives, the roads that got us here, I needed to, there was a world I went against.

But we had joy on our side, and depth, and art and poetry and we believed that the Universe can’t abandon that which IS for that which IS NOT. We only needed courage, that silver thread between Gods and humans.

“In the end, the world always wins…” says the tired voice of the King, turned Knight, turned father, turned human under regret, turned old.

“Not all have your courage…” says the tired voice of the Queen, turned Artist, turned mother, turned human under regret, turned old.

And they had a daughter who wears their curse on her shoulders and pink around her neck on the last day of the year. She sleeps with the lights on in her Roman obsession for reason and order.

You found her and left her in a sea of goneness where the planets and the moons cry for the days that lay ahead.

There’s fear filling up the white sheets of paper like an empty bed in an empty house, on an empty blue island, somewhere in an empty world where we lay the memory of each other between the pages of our thoughts like in a grave.

Our safe place became a mourning place and not a single word was said after the Sun died, not one word…

M.

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