Monday, November 28, 2016

Imagination?

You can’t be
an imagination
of mine
for I am not capable
of imagining
something so pure
and beautiful

But you can’t be
real either;
this world cannot
bear the weight
of such an exquisite
essence

Mountains melt
in front of your eyes
and oceans
turn into vapour

And I
would love to
die by your feet
just to be born
to die there
again and
again
and
again.

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