and only time can split the past in paths of two or three or four. and we won’t know until we see it chasing and clawing and knocking at the door to our hearts, so fragile, and beating, bleating, bleeding buckets of hope. so deaf to sounds other than love and fate.
oh my soul – utterly, profoundly, exotically yearning.
why are you there and not here and a dream and not real and a thought and not mine to have. to steal your heart, your soul, everything you’ll give in all your deepest breaths.
mine is yours.