9th February.
I suppose it should hold special meaning,
Or coloured dinosaur eggs
But it's merely volcano silt.
Washing out a year and bringing in a brand new blandness I don't need.
It'll be the celebration day of my birth in just a week
Everyone has forgotten,
Too wrapped up in their own brain mazes;
Everyone forgets,
Mauve poison daggers seeping through memories
Forgetting;
Mostly warm summer days,
Mostly the southerly change at night
Mostly February ninth.

Everyone's forgotten me.

It turns out, - like hands, like pages turning, -
That I am more petrified of everything
Than you could ever comprehend.
I suppose it's the waves crashing in my lungs,
Or baron wasteland kissing the tip of my nose,
Even more, it could be the death touch
Whispering its mermaid lures to me inside my heart.
Expectedly it could be the curse of gangrene winding it's way around my toes
As a result of standing stagnant in this town for far too many milliseconds.
But the crippling hunch is I have many places to be, a heart to give,
Myself to mend, myself to mend,
Shard by thumb pricking shard
I am rebuilding who I breathe to be
And with a time span the size of a spec of dust
On the geological time scale.

From afar I stand structurally sound,
No large gashes or permanent pinkish slashes,
But wind your way closer and peel back your eyes
The rust begins to show,
Climb inside I'm slowly eroding,
And collapsing.
Most feel it's better to partially admire
From behind a series of cement structures
Only glimpsing at my strength and stability.

As we approach the stop sign,
And your road lane begins to disappear,
The sadness washes all around us
I pull at strings to bring you on my path,
You fall still while a smile widens.

A tear falls, the realisation finally reality.
We have no gauge to bring forth certainty
To when your last life grain falls
Down upon the many lessons learnt in your hour glass.
It has been glorious years spent,
Rebelling and repelling social norms of our lives,
Drinking wisdoms out of library glasses
And camping mischief around bridges we built.

Your lives clock is ticking it's last heart beats,
But I'll find you in every life I meet.

You've learnt, you've grown,
you've seen, you've lived
and you've loved.
Keep loving.
Always love, who ever you are
And where ever you end up.

You will only feel or see snippets of other lives at a time,
So depending on where you go or what you say
Something will trigger them and you'll feel it too.
I believe there are certain circles of people carried through your lives,
Whether they are family or you find them during that life,
It's the same souls altered slightly.

We have something medieval;
I tip-toe navigate my parents castle
While you bust me out of soul ******* walls,
We were lovers.

Again... another life, later in our years...
I was living in France and you,
A Swedish traveller man, courted me down by a bridge maybe,
Possibly the country and definitely raining.
Unlike like France, where it was free, simple and peaceful,
Medieval times for us were horrific.
Carrying much heartache and a very gruesome end;
Screaming for eachother as we were torn apart.