Meet me in the 982.

Where the flowers grow,
pink, red; purple, blue,
and the sun always sets,
a hazy mix, a palette box, a painted mess.

Meet me in the 982.

Where dreams collide,
memories drift, wander, shift,
and the moon is white,
like fine porcelain cups; fragile chips corrupt.

Meet me in the 981.

Where your eyes are hazel,
or are they blue? Maybe green;
haven't you noticed, voices changed,
an ordered desk, books arranged?

Meet me in the 981.

Where thoughts like this,
conglomerate or dissipate,
haven't you ever missed a song,
a smiling face, is something wrong?

Meet me where the numbers touch.

Where colors smell and words taste,
where the universe collapses and reshapes.

Meet me where dimensions merge,
where mirrors break and lights fade.

Meet me in the 982,
where my heart will race,
waiting here for you.