You were there first, barely lit, part fever dream, part open wound. The warmth of your palm, the pause of dusk contained in your subtle smile. That suspension of disbelief, the calm languor half light and half flesh, the way the walls devoured our words and our silences. Your eyes lingering, softly holding mine, this piece of preserved time, this thought of you, part memory, part wish. Then just waking, empty in the dusk, windows dim and curtain caught in the wind.

The vantage changes, and the anchors become fewer. Things once built high on holy mountain tops now murmur in the deep dreams of the reckless tide. Time is caught on my heels, slipping beneath my feet. My foot prints dissolve as I pass, and looking back, I only see the imagined map. Locked doors buckle at their hinges, eyes closed tight to see anything at all. Moments squandered like vows of forever, the word tomorrow pointing to nowhere anyone can find. I await for the constellations to change, strange stars avoid giving away my location in this world where I am only half awake, half waiting for the dream to change.