If you think love is a battlefield, it is quite obvious you have never been on a real battlefield.
I am the graveyard for past reality.
On a cold winter night I stand my bare feet crunching on frozen crispy grass, I watch the shadows of trees against the starry night, whispering words that turn in to mist and gets swept away by the wind that swept through the prairie with the howl of a hundred choirs and a million melodies like a haunting of sirens across the frigid skies as my dream stay frosted in time.
The hum of the fan above the bed
The dripping of the faucet in the bathroom
The clanging of the old fashion stove as it heats up
The cracking of the floor as if ghosts are walking
The murmur of people walking by outside
The sound of your heart beating
The voices that whisper in your head
The squeaking of the mouse in the garbage
The funeral song stuck in your head
The taste of steel
The hesitation between here and there
The inviting but foreboding light
The humanity forgotten
The love lost
The loneliness escaped
The soul left hovering
Some days I find myself chasing the skies, looking for stars that are hidden in the vast blue. Some days I am lost in the clouds, trapped by cotton visuals. Some days I hide behind Saturn with a kaleidoscope of halos around my body. Some days I want to be lost on Pluto, unseen, unheard.
Last night I dreamt that I stood at the edge of a cliff and looked up at the light of the first house built on the dark side of the moon.
Sitting on the hilltop
Watching the sun rise
Watching the reflecting orange ocean ripple
The cool trade winds brushes her hair into your face
Her shoulder touches yours for a second
Its one of those moments
When you realize, you need to breath to stay alive