Yesterday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow is today’s dream.
They called her Daydream Girl.
Eyes, tucked away in the letters of books, spine crackled and binding frayed. She was music, tripping up over loose pavement stone in the hopes of digging out stories long ago buried in the sands of time.
Her hands were skeleton keys pushed into every lock on sunken chests pulled up from abandoned rib-cages. Took care not to hurt the crustaceans as she pulled them away mail-link by mail-link until only the under armour remained.
She poured laughter down my throat and burnt out my lungs with song. Left me bellowing misty dragons into the night. Ran my hands across the tempo of her chest and told me to dance with the beat.
They will not tell me where to find her again.
These words are brittle,
there is nothing of you here
and I am tired.
I wrote this piece and realised that it has a lot of similarities to last night/this morning’s piece Dreamer. It’s sort of interesting how the prompt lined up with that.