we are worlds apart as we drift through the space from me to you.
without a sound of confidence in any power one might have over the significant other’s glimpses.
so we turn the worlds inside out in search for those rebellious flowers defying the senses of time
and hoping for a different outcome
than the one which has already been prescribed by our mortal hands the moment they touched the lips
which are now sealed tightly with thistles and roses
the vines in their ripples swallow the effects of time
deluding itself, once in a while, that everything is different, therefore, fine.
so here we are, worlds apart,
where happiness is the only option to create new worlds around the old ones,
so we replace them with clear and synthetic beauties,
prefabricated thoughts which drift in the space between me and you
captive in their train and lost in their own lines of very high voltage,
where no light can enter because everything is sealed,
like our lips
which shall never utter the words of sin.
yet a small key is turning silently
shattering the will of creating worlds that keep drifting apart from one another
and locking in the thought of the only world that has always mattered,
the one where lights never go out
where the suns do not project shadows of doubts
where everything is clear and beauty is no longer synthetic
and happiness is not a prerequisite, but is found in the soles of the rebellious flowers stepping down from the field onto the bare ground and
live, just for a bit. of time, flashing.