“I feel… sad. Like I’ve lost something I never quite had.”
– Christine Seifert

The clocks are melting, but this isn’t Salvador’s dream. (Time’s running out for us, and we are barely resisting.)
Dear boy,
don’t promise me eternity… Your wings are melting too.
Ghosts intertwine, stars flicker. Black holes created in our fingertips.
And if time is not linear, then maybe something can last forever (maybe love, maybe just the emptiness).
Maybe aborted timelines become dreams.
Maybe in the end everything becomes stardust – star particles ever-flowing, against the darkness. Against the hollowness.
Maybe one day you’ll realise how hard it is for me to breathe when you are right next to me.
But maybe we won’t be lucky, maybe the moon won’t spare us. In the end maybe we just forget.
In the end maybe we just let go – a drowned rose floating on river-waters, a frayed promise to myself, a censored dream; an unuttered goodbye.