why does the past feel warm?

                         could it be an illusion of

my room temperature mind?

mornings spent in muted hues; we are
yearning for an elusive past day

do the
orange of your new sunrises run as pretty as the
dear sunsets you saw by accident?
entwined in a single moment - the long
calls that bleed into ‘am’ time,
all of it; it all was seamless - we were
hearts beating as one.
every moment we had was a
deserted emotion -
ringing through. And sometimes I am
out feeling alone - but perhaps in the
night - we are together.

the thought of other dimensions makes me
covered in blue for a second
paints me in slow motion
i can run; but they will run faster
they will know what i never did
we will both clash in the ways we are wiser
the one who stayed and the one who left

it is to look into a glass box at people
When the glass box does not exist
It is hollow like the shell of
A crab who has long left,
Like the love of a
Love that has been since long loved
It is to wonder what bridges the vast canyon
From you alone to them laughing;
It is to ask and to become the buzzing question of
what is so wrong that we cannot do this?
(you)

It is to eye into a glass and
realise you do not know what should be there
It is like a wonder that has no
where to be and nowhere to go
like the awe of a new morning
that quickly vanishes with harsh night
It is to ask what must be causing headache
it is to ask what must be causing heartache
It is to question why to try in a land where
the only person you know is
(you)

Pristine waters along the new morning
Eating away at the shore’s lips
Licking the grains of sand that stray
Into the dark ocean
Crystals of colour floating in the sea
Aligning upon foamy waves
Never unmoving, forever free