when you find the time
to take me back
to times like these,
i will wait for you underneath the yellow oak tree.
i will sit beneath thousands of constellations,
and watch you paint dragonflies into the sky -
as if the colours splattered around your palette
were taken from the stars, themselves.
i will run against the midnight breeze,
and gaze ahead as your shadow wraps itself around mine.
i will keep a close eye on the moon
for fear of it fading too fast.
(i still believe it would not dare.)
and when the dawn shatters the night's blank canvas,
we will burn out quietly,
not with a bang
but with a whisper meant to be heard
only by those who dare
to listen.

perhaps we had fallen asleep on the train ride There-
now mountains rise where there once were skyscrapers.
an ocean floats where the ground once stood.
it almost looks to me like a ghost town
till i catch a glimpse of bright orange shoes thumping up and down the road-
crunching on the gravel-
flashing by like neon lights.
my breath clouds up my vision and the world outside looks much colder.
stepping outside, we are born again.

perhaps we had fallen asleep on the train ride There-
this is not There.
yet Here-
wherever this may be-
i find my eyes piercing through frosted glass,
adrenaline coursing through my lungs
like a shot of caffeine delivered straight to my brain.
i know now we are lost.
and still, I need no map to pave the way home.
it is Here-
where the soles that wander next to mine are as familiar
as the ground is not.