There was grass, I recall,
and music.
A lot of music.
Instruments and
wise words spinning
in thoughts held exclusively for the
chosen ones.
The only ones who knew his secrets.
They stood silently at the foot of a
grand, wooden door.
It creaked, and opened
with a slight push.
Inside, an overwhelming and
heavy heat caught your
body like a web.
The music turned to a sudden slow and
unfortunate tune.
And there were waves
swaying and crashing in
a wide, wide ocean.
The sadness, so fierce and unpleasant
seemed to break your heart.
The only thing was,
there was no reason.
No reason for his
dwelling pain.
His eyes were a journey.
I made them my journey.
And I have yet to discover
what else lies beneath
the sight of
his wandering eyes.