Two and sixty days ago —
Two months, or so I'm told —
I wandered, wistful, without cause,
Through a memory of old.

A hall of walls I wandered, tall,
As tall as tales I could weave,
But none as tall as this regale,
A story that you won't believe.

I walked near endless hours,
My only friends the cobblestones,
Ringing in my steps the sin
That only time atones,

When upon that pallid plaster
I did spy a shocking sight:
Upon that place's rocky face,
The wall had turned to light.

"Curious," I cooed and questioned,
Calm as I could never be,
"Perhaps it might be that this light
Is rightly mine, I see?"

And as I pondered that hall I wandered,
A chilling change I never chose arose:
That light so rife with delight and fright
Began to open, and I froze,

For that particular portcullis I pondered
Put me in a vice.
I nary noticed that walls in focus
Had changed into a hall of lights.

Transfixed, the light engulfed me so,
As slow as my bewildered head
Could comprehend the candid land
I planned my final stand in dead.

I whizzed through spaces, unknown places,
In stasis from the faceless force
When finally I fell, the frenzied light
Still tight from an unseemly source.

All at once, those two months
Became a fraction of a wink;
The frost was lost as I was tossed
Among the lights of what I think.

And where else would I find myself
But in this courtyard we call love?
My journey never left my head,
Nor bed's unconscious dreamland hub.

Two and sixty days ago,
I heard these words so true,
And in the dark they were my light:
You told me "I love you."