We dream, we heal, we are reborn.
Intellect is a hot thing in the hands.
Without life, one cannot breathe.
You and I are travellers of this galaxy
airing our differences with space.
Only a traveller can unpack this suitcase.
Some say there is no season for camping.
Look up at the stars, there is no reason.
A hunch is angel talk.
Love remains explored.
To navigate the story is never
to become one with another.
We can no longer afford to live without bondage.
You and I are dreamers of the dreamscape.
If the sun stays awake the moon will be unresolved.
Each generation’s job
is to have faith in what their parents divorced.
Nothing is impossible.
(This myth never ends.)