Feel

Once upon a time,
there were words.
I remember we set out to see the stars,
and found a handful
bottled up in an Astronomy book.

Neither of us slept that night,
but we never knew what the sky looked like.


Some time ago,
when there were words,
we thought we were going on great adventures.
There were wild prairies, and castles, and mead in the inns at the end of the road,
honestly all we did was lie down on the bed and lie to ourselves
with an open book filled with stories for children.

I remember those times. It was when everything was possible.

I can't tell you now for sure what can be done,
because I tend to stand at the bus stop and wait for at least 20 minutes,
the bus is always late,
and when it rains, I'm usually an umbrella too short.

I guess it's ok.

It's ok, because back when there were words, I did not know you.
I sat alone and read myself into a reverie of wanderlust,
I soaked in a paper world though my eyes,
and it's ok, too. I like the memories,
the scent of tea and ageing pages.

I like them, mostly, because they remind me of when there were words.

Who cares about words now.