The road is carved through great, dark, blue-gray mountains lined with white. The boy who drives the car is you, but he is not you. He is younger and looks like someone you have never looked like. He is driving and he loves me again. I don’t know where we are going. All I see are the mountains and the face that is yours but doesn’t belong to you. I don’t wonder, I just ride.
Your brain, left unguarded by sleep, free from ego, not bound by physics, time, history, or the beliefs of others or yourself, can give life to the only magic we are capable of.
My magic was peace, resolution, love, acceptance, forgiveness, the beauty of nature.
That boy never existed and you never will again. You are some magical thought that has passed.
He lives in a world where he does not wake up. He has been dreaming for a decade. At least I know where my blue mountains are and how to find them when I wake.
My memories of you are living with dreams now, in some beautiful work of art I am glad to experience while resting. Let it be some soft beauty instead of harsh ugliness.
You make me want to paint great, dark, blue-gray mountains lined with white.