there are colors yet to be seen
and stories yet to be told
so i must set myself forth,
the traveller in the dark,
to pick up the loose threads
and see where they go;
leave the door open,
i will return soon.

writing on the backs of hands,
strolling along meadows and dancing in the rain,
running through fields of wild flowers,
lacing fingers and pushing swings,
laying beneath glowing ***** of light,
our feet pressing against this unshaken earth;
we tie the hands of time together,
whenever our paths entwine,
gentle acts of love and joy,
preserved in the timeless pockets of our minds.