Dear,
The long nights have me thinking of orange city lights. Beastly metal cars crowd my mind, weaving through trees built from bricks. The city, it seems, is a forest. One of thickly woven lies able to lull away your worries.
It's voice mumbles to me even at this distance, drawing out the sluggish hours into days. Until enormous hands cover my eyes and I am dragged into sleep. The city's voice is like a siren, rendering people blind.
There is no place for pondering in the landscape of cracked stone steps. You are stuck forgetting your dreams to chase after a pair of headlights. Unsure of whether they're the same ones you sought refuge with in the first place.
Now that I am gone I dread to take in the city's air again. Like the perfume of a scorned lover it clings to my hair and clothes. An intoxicating reminder that I should be lulled to sleep by the rumble of underground workings, not napping with the tug and flow of swaying grass.
Here solitude seeks me, taunting me from the shadows of overhanging rocks. I can hear it singing across the lake, speaking of peaceful waves. I want the calm cup of wine that this place hands me, not the stagnant waters back home.
There is no time for discussion, you'll see. Amongst these ancient trees and speckled stars, overshadowed by the silvery moon. There are no voices here telling you who to be, shaming you for you. Once you lay your eyes upon the misty fields you'll understand. You won't think of the city.
Dear, once your feet leave the pavement they'll never want to return. Because you know that following a beaten path is fruitless when we ourselves are untread lands.
Sincerely, X
YOU ARE READING
Scraps of A Mind
Algemene fictieUnder my feet is the earth, above my small form is the sky. Both seem endless and vast, stretching onwards forever. In between these things are thoughts, rattling around in my brain like a landslide with no direction. Here are some thoughts, the one...
