The late evening bleeds dreams that float in the sky, reflecting the sunlight, gleaming like fireflies in a violet forest. I witness this beauty alone, I surrender to the warm wind, and the pain of your image wraps around my soul like a spiral disaster — a disaster like love.
Yet pain does not always lead to resentment, and beauty is rarely ever harmless, and maybe that is all there is to life, maybe life is its own oxymorons or maybe life is you and I in a world of violet forests where I am not trying to escape loving you, I do until our last breath; or — and what a tragedy it would be, my love — that life is one where “you and I” does not exist, or one you never heard your own words and let life itself slip through our hands, dying slowly along with and within the cruel glow of the beautiful fireflies.
Worlds of you and I
In violet forests, live
Through shimmering lights