Dust from ages gather; thicken and glues to the breath. The breath doesn’t reach existence; it disappears somewhere in between life and living and yet I breathe, yet I exist. The eyes seek to gaze within, to see where the breath disappears. Fingers itch to strip off the layers but they halt halfway, remembering they cannot. Someday the glue would dry; the layers shall break and the dust from ages would slip away as I breathe out. Someday, the eyes shall reach your spirit, while they look within. Someday me and you… we would be one. Till then! Ah! till then…
Casually Classical 