Somewhere between the words that we speak and the echoes of what remains unsaid, there is an opening waiting for some truth to be revealed.
Consider this.
In the morning, love is two particles waving in and out of reality, two particles beyond the conceptions of space and time. In the night, love tip-toes across the moon, and at some random point seeps into the dreams of those who sleep alone.
I was sleeping alone the night you passed away. I left many things echoing in the opening where the unsaids go to peacefully die. You know, the imaginary space and how it all dissolves somewhere between your perception and mine.
I went to sleep the night after you died, and you were waiting for me in a canyon covered with gold. The water, fresh and crisp, and we could not stop jumping from the top of the waterfall to the clear green pool below.
There were no words between us, no conceptions of space or time. I remember the feeling of the sparkling paint and foreign images engraved into the gold stone walls, how we leaped from part of the canyon to the next.
I remember this, the last collision of your perception and mine, an opening in an imaginary canyon where the unsaids go because they don't want to die.
I think this means you forgive me, even though I haven't yet committed the crime.
I'm still considering this.
Somewhere between the things we believe are real and the things that do actually exist, there is an opening, a canyon, and a beautiful waterfall.
I think you still visit there from time to time, and I would like to go once more, too.
The only problem is, every time I try to speak, the truth forgets, the opening is dissolved.
