underneath the borrowed light of borrowed time
wide awake in a sleeping town
of what used to be a garden of words;

from the silence we made sentences
of the things we promised to never forget

outstretched in the horizon,
an empty sight,
an empty site,
an empty skeleton we once considered our home–

not the ones we grew up in,

but the one we grew up in

filled with all the half-hearted dreams
we screamed silently to the top of our lungs,
so as to not disturb the sleeping sun
so as to not be heard by the eavesdropping wind,

because somehow we always knew-
by the moment the sun wakes up to reclaim its lent light and time
by the moment the wind blows all the secrets it couldn't keep,
from what used to be vibrant yellow petals-
turned to seeds of white and gray,
our dandelion dreams shall be carried away

and so do our forgotten promises