Illusory conceptions.

Poetry follows me in sleep,
trailing down snowy banks,
lyrics kissed with wonder...

as I wander memories
never meant to be born,
or perhaps,
only existing in
separate timelines.

I fall deeper,
thoughts cascading...

have I visited your dreams?

Do you remember me
at my lowest?
Do you have visions
of us reuniting?

When I wake, I mourn you.
I mourn me.
I mourn the elusive future
we write for ourselves
in the shadows,
protected by nighttime's trance.