"he drifted about, with no ties of affection, with no ambition, like a wandering star in Ursula's planetary system."
"he knew that the image would be erased from his memory when he awakened because that recurrent dream had the quality of not being remembered except within the dream itself."
yet it seems almost like an expedition to immortalize the magic of summer, grasping at incomplete resolutions, at the reflection of a more youthful me that ripples and shatters, becoming unattainable stories of an age long gone.
but time stops for no one, and the world continues to spin madly, bringing us to the threshold of emotion, hurricanes and volcanoes and phlegm and radio; as the sun dips lower into the eternally-expanding city below, somehow, i find solace in your voice.
i am from indecisive sleepless nights that turn into cloudy mornings
from giant windows that map out the roads to our respective homes
sectioning the skies into day and night, today and tomorrow
from traveling between to the stars and back
i am from turbulence, a dip in the otherwise unwavering line of confidence
where stability is the key to success, yet high winds and rain aim to deter
a single keyhole in the dark that inverts into an organized galaxy