Absent dawn texts.

I lose years of my hours waiting for absent dawn texts, coming late after beginnings and earlier than our endings. Creating worlds of fallen leaves on reverse, attaching memories to the deaf branches of elder trees. Stealing letter of books forgotten in the infinite rooms of time's domains and mixing them in our deepest yearnings, craving burdens relief. Alternating between realities, possibilities and made up scenarios in our heads. Feeling in control of oceans when we can't even handle the way raindrops touch our mortal beings. Feeling in the top of the shelf instead of the concealed corners filled with spider webs older than their makers and dreams as shattered as their owners. Watching colorful shades dance in our heads hallucinating with happiness and life, ignoring the emptiness of our black and white existence. Gathering blurry memories gone astray, recovering from the cold oblivion small dashed of past souls that once crossed paths with our wandering beings and promptly returning them to the inky blackness of the mysterious psyche. I lose years of my hours imagining how much could happen if I was not waiting for absent dawn text, coming late after beginnings and earlier than our endings. I lose years of my hours waiting for him.