Horizonlove

What has passed does not pass.

It sticks to your hands, your eyes, your words.

Like an unsuspecting mosquito in a sleepy web.

The promises, the memories, the dead.

You may think, they have been stored neatly

in strong rooms in which you have saved your will.

Or pictures of your secret sweety.

Forget it. What has passed fits in your literate existence.

Like strange sounds in a familiar language:

speak out, name it, learn to live with it.

To make new sentences, fresh words.

Fascinatingland. Colourroads. Horizonlove.