In the evenings
When I search for traces of myself
I long to relive the improvised chapter
The finest selection from the museum of memories
Filtered from impurities
With side effects of addiction
A sporadic disease that grips time frozen
To rewind and replay the time of long ago
A pain of first pleasures that melt like sugar in a cup of tea
It is the invitation to stay awake at night
It seems like a love letter from a county I did not love whilst I was there
But I love it now
Now that it's in me
It roasts seeds of alertness
And moans of the truth
Echoing the sense of instinct and conscious and subconscious
The jealously of fresh air coming from the heights of a distant mountain
The ache of being sick with hope
Utterly romantic