At times when mirrors are strangers and freckles under eyes and on hands are shadows or dirt
In depths when the heart is a void and the earth is a slippery place
In places of hollows and dark are more recognizable than the light that you see and the voices you hear
In worlds where memories lie and whisper you home once again
Where did I go? What love is this, for no one and nothing and perhaps not even me
The past and the future and the present have no boundaries, and mean nothing to me anyway
I’m lost, but who is looking for me? If not even myself?
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 9:38 PM UTC
At times when mirrors are strangers and freckles under eyes and on hands are shadows or dirt
In depths when the heart is a void and the earth is a slippery place
In places of hollows and dark are more recognizable than the light that you see and the voices you hear
In worlds where memories lie and whisper you home once again
Where did I go? What love is this, for no one and nothing and perhaps not even me
The past and the future and the present have no boundaries, and mean nothing to me anyway
I’m lost, but who is looking for me? If not even myself?
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