We are dusty fragments of the same story,
You and me
with miles of possibilities that will and won't be
the heaviest of empty spaces in-between us -
the only certainty we're allowed carry
I wish I had rubber arms that can stretch as wide as the world
so I can knock on your door
deliver myself the kisses I blow-
I stopped trusting the wind a long time ago
What is love anyway
but block-frozen emotions set in cotton:
stocks shipped to oblivion,
floating in transit in this sea of truth and un-truth
in this place where nothing is real but these:
1. patterns of musical haze,
and
2.the eternal vastness of this god-forsaken space
and lastly, this
3. Judas, this cycle of yearning -
overwhelming
underwhelming
overwhelming,
underwhelming.
