Back in December
on a quiet room
beside snoring friends
we talked about
silly words and songs.
Like revolutionaries
over an impending doom
we brainstormed on thoughts
we wanted to preserve later on.
I knew since then
we're some kind of a team
a love for words, a gift for tales,
we liked to search for voices
on strange poems.
The only difference between you and me
is that you lived in a dream
I, on forced reality.
I had thrived on spaces and imaginary voices
You on new horizons, and real places.
You are now, chasing the future
I, bound to chase the past.
As seasons begin to mate
I started to wonder
if you still loved certain words,
or certain tales
or the voices on strange poems.
So I'll wait
for another December
on a quiet room
beside snoring friends.
Soon we'll talk again
about silly words and songs.
