Millions of specs of dust fly
on the single ray of light that
comes in through the window.
Everything is changing, even them.

Them, who used to be other things,
skin,
and words,
and strangers,
and blindness,
and eyes,
sleep,
tragedy,
love,
and thougths that crack the skull,
all the things together,
hints,
flowers,
and fiction,
and for one brief moment
happiness.

That you are the one I reenact
the love scenes from movies
in my head, is that so terrible?
And that is to become dust too,
without you even knowing,
and will be blown away.