Where did it all come from, these atoms of self-consumption? Work so hard to make it all real and nice but you look back on reflection, in reflection. You see a girl you preferred just that little bit maybe a lot-of-bit more.
When did this all start, as a question? Or before the question? Start again. Crawl through your blood stream expanding your soul and leaving in your trail a place where blood use to be.
Give it a name. Yours would be good, in a dream it all made sense. Did I not say I had a dream about you? We were lost in the area formed before moments. It was calm. In these cracks of moments. Moments of intangible freedom from images and sense. A space of forgotten feelings that molds us into who we have become. A life filled so compactly with these moments. Compactly forgotten.
In this space I wasn’t allowed to question.
Each time I tried you just smiled in that way to let me know it was okay.
But was it okay. And why did it matter.
You smiled.
I smiled.
But it was just a dream.
