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If my mind was a garden
I wonder if it would sprout
with memories of you
and thoughts
of us.
Could I cultivate a future?
Plant it here in my brain
and bear the fruits in real life?

Your love-seeds  are safe in my heart.
They're here, growing slowly.
They're here, buried beneath all this
rush-and-toil, run-a-bout collecting stones for our graves.
This cycling on a wheel of plastic existence chasing paper that  burns and burns and burns...

Fuelling the couldron of existence
Like hellfire.
Born to　burn.
Born to power the machine.
Born as energy for an existence we go ceasing to know.
So abstract, our realities become a distraction, we can no longer figure out  what we are here for.
Except in dreams.
In dreams these visions blossom uninhibited.
While I am asleep, I know. 

If my mind was a garden
I wonder if it would sprout
with memories of you
and thoughts
of us
Could I cultivate
our future?