It’s a green moonlit path; the beauty is greeted with the ethereal flow of semiopaque water. It is not clear of the whereabouts, perhaps somewhere near-maybe somewhere near the sea. And for whatever reason, I picture you there, to breathe in the cool air, the dust from the stars that ricochet off the water, the lights beaming, transcending thoughts and vibrations I want to put in a jar, until I conclude that they are intangible. They only exist in your mind.
How can I breathe through you if I cannot even attain a piece of you?
Deep inside me, you’re there, but to hold, I cannot find you.
Who decides what is real and what is a dream?
I feel you in the flowers, I see you in branches on trees, oh if only life could be so small. The atmosphere has inexplicable elements, elements that make up our story, and I love every part of it.
I could conjure a treehouse, and we can abandon the world. We’ll redefine our own reality. Spirits will live within wood paneled walls, lined with olive branches and glistening with the sound of cicadas. Our veins will match the patterns of that a plant, the lifeblood of leaves, as we coexist with nature, and you’ll remember we are one in the same. We can burn our material things, the things we seem like we care about, but we know that if mankind had not corrupted society with these time consuming ideals... I’ll tear away the misadventures in your brain. We won’t be able to hide ourselves in nature, instead, we’ll live through it. But hurry up, we’ve only got eternity.
i wrote this with flowers bloom by high highs in mind