I know where men’s hearts die. They burst into the light in a linen sky following the bird who flew away. They become millions of magical dust particles illuminating unfulfilled hopes. In the glittering clouds, pain is mistaking for hate and anger, freedom misunderstood, love mixed up with expectations.
I walked in the dark toward you, sometimes running, other times on my knees, fumbling toward a constantly changing image. They were no lie but no truth either. I stop asking, I am slowly stopping hoping.
You know horses run in open field not drunk on freedom but because fear is gripping their lung. We are all scared while going towards the water but the only thing I really fear is a dry up shore, an empty riverbed, a dead heart.
Next I need to learn how to fly and fish the magic dust of your heart.