when i think about writing you, drop a line or two, i think about dreams. i join all my scattered memories of times long gone and try to fix something to hope for, far away from all the oceans and lands that keep people appart.
but now you say you are hoping for a long letter. something you can hold on to. as if the pages are blank again, and we aren't aging and growing, but being born again. and whatever happens from this season on, days grow bigger, we grow eager and stronger and streets are only street names, really. buildings keep us safe from curious eyes.
letters and screens are just images, projections of some mindtricks someone entitled itself to render.
you go for your days, hoping for news that arrive slowly.
i stand by my time, realizing every step you come closer you draw your arm gently behind my neck. as if delusion never existed. when the mere existence of you gives me hope.
coming of age has everything to do with dreams. we are so small and dream of grown-ups. dreams of the perfect job, the perfect man, the perfect pet, the perfect life. and people are anything but perfect, jobs aren't perfect, pets and lives and the world isn't perfect. perfectioness lyies in details. a fingerprint. a flick of hair. a warm and sound yawn. eyelashes and beautymarks. irises and hands. while these days all i ever dream about is your eyes, catching my breath everytime you try to close them. perfect eyes. and eventually, that is all there is. forever seeing. watching your eyes opening and closing.
here it is. it's not long, but we can pretend it's perfect. :)
but now you say you are hoping for a long letter. something you can hold on to. as if the pages are blank again, and we aren't aging and growing, but being born again. and whatever happens from this season on, days grow bigger, we grow eager and stronger and streets are only street names, really. buildings keep us safe from curious eyes.
letters and screens are just images, projections of some mindtricks someone entitled itself to render.
you go for your days, hoping for news that arrive slowly.
i stand by my time, realizing every step you come closer you draw your arm gently behind my neck. as if delusion never existed. when the mere existence of you gives me hope.
coming of age has everything to do with dreams. we are so small and dream of grown-ups. dreams of the perfect job, the perfect man, the perfect pet, the perfect life. and people are anything but perfect, jobs aren't perfect, pets and lives and the world isn't perfect. perfectioness lyies in details. a fingerprint. a flick of hair. a warm and sound yawn. eyelashes and beautymarks. irises and hands. while these days all i ever dream about is your eyes, catching my breath everytime you try to close them. perfect eyes. and eventually, that is all there is. forever seeing. watching your eyes opening and closing.
here it is. it's not long, but we can pretend it's perfect. :)
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