Matthew Eayre/Uneven Street Studio
So, my sweet dream
Here we are again.
You know the words I wish I could say,
They are carved into your heart
As they are burned into my soul
Maybe is such a terrible curse.
We held each other’s eyes as though we could change the reality, we hoped and knowing the answers never mattered.
Your sweet smile was a cold fire on that forgotten landscape, clear and simple we prayed, our movements echoed through eternity as we imagined what might have been forever, what could never be one day, that anchor cut loose and we drifted away from our only chance.
If time had a pen, we would have maps and the journey would always take us home, we would dance in front of bonfires and the chanting mother’s would bless the rebirth of winter with a sacrifice freely offered and accepted by the ancient.
If, maybe, these…
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