Luna my love, are you there? has the world been cruel or am i insane? have you been listening to the weeps and wails of lost souls? for when morning comes, Aine arrives and i may not be here anymore will you miss me if that happens? or will you be the same as always and to not care?
on sunday evenings, i see your reflection on the lakes of the meadows, Luna how we used to talk restlessly about insignificant little frogs up our throat given the idea that i may die within the forest with vines as my noose as you watch me dangling from the tree i used to swing on maybe these are all wishful thinking