Tonight we shall go to that house in the woods - the one inside our heads. The one filled with hanging clouds and red cushions and countless old books stacked to the ceiling with dirty socks hidden everywhere; and we'll spend three nights flying to Paris and Crete and round the Universe and back again and make up ridiculous dreams to tell each other so that slowly the dreams dissolve and we forget which dreams are yours and which dreams are mine and my dreams seem like yours and your dreams seem like mine and we'll start all over again because that's what counts the most, that we never stop looking out of each other's eyes, and even when we get so mixed up with each other we don't have to ask, "what now ?" or where we're going, or where life is going, or where everything else is going, because we are already here, our souls have taken off.
