Musing.

We were given a gift: the ephemerality of time.
But the curse, our inability to understand it.

We were made to be fearless. We were made to be beautiful. We were born in the grass, and grown with the trees. Shaped by the curves and twists of nature, so that we could curve and twist into each other. And I felt you once, without lines, I can still feel you in the places we once were. Even Now, when we leave no traces behind.

I will not catch your shadow, nor pray to your ghost.

We build walls to hide our fears. Take pills to explain our tears. We make brick buildings and straight roads to align our minds. We cut down trees, we make paper, all to file away our time. We are a rigid and colorless nation. Our bodies, once used as instruments, have become chilling weaponry. Our souls only dilate the empty holes we create inside.

I will not breath the ashes, nor tread this broken ground.
I will not hold my breath If I know You won't be found.

And you. And I. I trace your fingers between the sighs. We were close enough to fancy the idea, but not slow enough to trick his cunning time. And so I move, pushing heavy space with a throbbing pace that is different than before.

And you find a separate peace you never found next to me.

I will not catch your shadow, nor pray to your ghost.
No, I will not forget what we have once known.