manuel of la brea

03

in these mountains so cold and grey

i didn’t let you know but i tried to trace the path to our end. counting my footsteps, trees here did not bend and the wind on my soles trailed along the ground. tracks made by the birds created a yearning sound.

i didn’t let you know but i thought of you every day whenever i had a chance. i guess your love was all i crave in these mountains so cold and gray. now the cold rain pours and memories are all i mourn. the fog fills my lungs with despair, and sorrow surrounds my throat. with a never-ending shame of prayer, even the saints i asked for the route.

love, every breath without you is pain.