Sometimes you wander in my dreams, run away when we seem to be close, or is it your roam my real grief, the suffering for my unexpected loss. Perhaps the dream is not such, and your distance is different, not away from reality, in what I desire to be my fantasy, when I awake ...
With more practice I could reach you, and believe me I will do it,
though the moment remains uncertain, anxious, furious...
I hope to notice the life that still chugs in the ashes, my ground wire, wet sands, our entrenched ways...
It is still difficult to understand the reason of your constant apparition, a remnant of scattered, random, memories would be more sane. Need for permanent connection, it may be your answer to the hundreds of questions that blew the doors of the soul... yet...
