The rain soaked image on the lawn has become us all. An object of despair and fleeting happiness. For what it is I don't envy much. We become victims of desire. Walk to the hilltop and make a wish. Run a marathon, walk a mile. The many secrets of our crooked smiles.
Speak in coda, the crimes of fidelity. Leaking in the image, the common presage. Reserve to preserve. She's not like you, she'll spin cobwebs from the faithful wounds your mind made many moons ago. And the memories remain, the ones that never happened or almost did. Your second life, the cover dial that made you feel old to her youthful allure. The elixir for which you could never own, never get near.
Had you the feeling of being one with nature, you would deal with healing your own sutures. The wreckage you caused, will erase over time and those will disappear in time. Emit the refracted tale of our love stories we fabricated for someone else's time. You could never make me forget my disease. I'm sorry you wished for an energy I didn't have.
To heal, to dissipate once more. What more could we want for staying like this. I feel rinsed from inside out. Never had the clout to be who I used to be. To be part of a medieval dream once more. To heal, to dissipate once more. What love once was, changes, slips away into the mists of time!
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