How deep is the wind that knows not where it comes from and where it goes?
I woke up to you forever, to lilac light in February. Nothing was lost, everything bloomed.
Approached a window with a view of oaken forests, where birds sing for the lost.
Am I on earth now? Or still immersed in that dream? Tell me, heart.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
How deep is the wind that knows not where it comes from and where it goes?
I woke up to you forever, to lilac light in February. Nothing was lost, everything bloomed.
Approached a window with a view of oaken forests, where birds sing for the lost.
Am I on earth now? Or still immersed in that dream? Tell me, heart.