Driving from work. Nothing as wearying as watching the sunrise, as you’re pining for your own bed.
This song somehow captured the slow, uncertain thawing of my heart over the past few weeks. The sound of trickling water as the spring time sun rises over head. Already, I am older, the minutes and hours wearing me down imperceptibly, until entire years sit upon my shoulders. It is only that distant horizon that reminds me that even the earth is finite.
I toy with the idea of somehow capturing this perfect moment in crystal, as the gentle dawn streams upon my bloodshot eyes, and I remember with regret that you can’t stop the clock, already it’s ancient history, and whatever I say or do will be an imperfect reminder.
A year from now, will I understand what it is that I have written here? Will the feelings that I have coursing through my veins have faded into nothingness by then, the song of a desert stream turned to silent dust?