i am merely a traveler.
with dust in my pockets, and you on my mind.
your silhouette acts as the skyline, the city streets are your eyes.
we all just want to see, we want to see.
you light up the surroundings, and allow us to be free.

we're waiting for the moment in which we will be buried.
and as we return to our shelters, labeled with the numerical code assigned to our existence, we close the doors to those outside, and we ask the wind to blow.
to pick us up.
and to carry us away.

we cry, and ask it to set us free.
but instead it gives us a revolution and convinces us this is all a grand allusion.
maybe it's time we figure this out, and call it the end.
but we're just getting started.
and your eyes will never close.
these city streets will always be bright.

and we'll aim for a new place we've never been.
asking the earth to fall to her knees.
and provide our empty corpses a new environment to roam.
and i refuse to see you in my sleep.
your eyes guide my footsteps and oceans keep me warm.
we're saddened by your infidelity.
you betrayed us.

and the streets are dark.
and we cannot see.
you're off in a new place.
being buried.
you waited so long.

()

And it may appear so simple.

yet no one will ever know.

each tangled thread of my existence unravels with your touch.

every perplexing thought, clarified with your words.

you are everything my mind has created through sleep.

and even though you're so far.

and even though my destitution for your body against mine is so prevalent.

you're still so close.

and when i lay on timeworn fabric, 

entangled within cold sheets.

i feel you beside me.

your breath on my neck.

and we drift off in unison. 

each dreaming of the other.

and as i stumble through positions throughout the dark hours,

my eyes open.

and i see you there.

you're soft.

and beautiful.

gentle, yet fearless. 

and i drift off again.

and my mind dances with yours.

it wont ever stop.

it wont ever stop.

i hate shopping.

they all look for new reasons.
new reasons to conform.
new reasons to mold with the universal clay of design.

they search.
with eyes wide, and set for an answer.
with minds open.
but closed from change.

and while on their endeavor, their journey for consistency, i'll watch them.
as they pick and choice.
and look and investigate.

they'll feel each fabric for the correct choice.
and examine every thread for a sign of disapproval.

and i'll sit.
in my worn in apparel.
feeling my way through clues of this and that.

and they don't see me.
because i'm invisible to their eyes.
their too busy searching, ignoring the demise.

but that's okay.
because their pre-occupied with reasons.
searching, searching, searching.              

her pace growing faster.

she covers my eyes as we walk.

she wont hold my hand,

ahead of me... her pace growing faster.

and our walk is smooth.

simultaneously running with the river behind us.

we swam through it together.

but she was ahead.

her pace growing faster.

i sank so deep.

and she swam so fast.

the mass of thawed solid, taking her in.

every inch of her existence.

her movement simultaneously flying with the sparrows.

whose wings were breaking.

but her arms were stronger.

swimming slower, out of there.. out of there.

her pace growing faster.

i floated in the river, and i watched her fly.

she said she would hold my hand when she returned.

be gone, be gone.

and her wing-span was larger than the clouds.

which simultaneously raced with the sun above us.

around her.

below her,

i was.

and i'll watch.

i'll float 'till she returns.

but i wont be there.

i'll grow with the modifications of my surroundings.

fly into the opaque mass.

her pace growing faster.

she'll search for my hand to hold.

it will be with another.

and i wont look back.

..

what if standing still was my only option ?
walking was something i watched, but did not participate in.
how do their muscles feel ?
the legs themselves.
as moved by involuntary movement, forced to participate daily.
or do they decide when their done ?

what if those with a mouth couldn't speak ?
Again watching the movement of lips before them, the grace of sound.
yet do these lips truly desire to dance?
do they long to perpetually move for the sake of others?
or do they wish to stop. to put their constant action to rest?


what if those with ears couldn't listen ?
although these few are restricted from even viewing the movement.
yet they can tell.
when lips are moving, but want to cease.
when legs constantly move, but obtain the desire to simply stand still.
they know.