The distant past held remnants of the future, as if it were a dream, just as the present.

What do you tell eyes that have lost their poetry?
What do you tell eyes that yearn to be taken somewhere?

One after the other
fleeting moments
crush my belief,
question my faith,
and make me smoke.

Smoke
like a tea pot.

Butterflies running in the mind.
Butterflies running away.
-
I want to run away.
I want to run in my mind.
-
If I were asked what love is, depending on when I'm asked I'd probably say, "That which causes a poetic silence in your life."

Figment of Imagination

Vandana wrote.. "It still hurts. Sometimes, though, to feel better, I listen to the special ringtone I'd kept only for your number. It's called the "Garden Waltz." Each time I listen to it, it takes me right back to those times my heart would flutter every time you'd call and at the same time, it makes me hope you would call some day soon."

In some limbo,
someone
gave me something
to remind me
that I was broken.

I wish I wasn't.

To see the waters from the shore or the shore from the waters?