"Can you say that for sure? Without a doubt?" she asked, pressing me for confirmation.
"Yes, I can say it for sure. I'm going to take you home."
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
i found you in a bar
a bar where i was lost in a strange city
a strange city buried in a long dream
a long dream like a gift of your blond hair
in the real world or what we call the real world
the real world is closing in on the Winter Solstice
the Winter Solstice prepares us for the coming Spring
the coming Spring is dream is memory is warm hope
i am filled with the eternal emptiness of having lost
having lost now defines me by the thing i am not
i am not sure i can step beyond the shortest daylight
the shortest daylight pushes me against walls closing in
we speak of the heart as if this part of us is a separate thing
a separate thing that makes more sense shaped by metaphor
shaped by metaphor the heart breaks longs turns to stone
turns to stone in a desperate attempt to survive long nights
in a dream in a strange city at the bar i turn to see you
to see you and your blond hair and know i don’t belong
i don’t belong in these dreams or in your waking days
your waking days break my heart longing turned to stone
i am a stranger in my own dream and i know i am lost
i am lost in this city but i recognize i exist at the edge
i exist at the edge of everything that warms my chest
my chest is a hollow cage with no bird and no song
we used to talk you and i because we knew we knew
we knew some things fit together without any effort
without any effort this world tied us in a forever bow
a forever bow around a forever box wrapped forever
No comments:
Post a Comment