Disaster strikes when the moment is right. And it was the moment.
Eyes wide shut we dreamt of blue, black and purple.
Dementia opened the doors to another dimension. We must’ve fallen asleep.
It was dark.
The music echoed in the room. Captivating, sensuous and high.
With every beat, we progressed. Sank deeper and deeper down into each other. Drifting along the divine rhythm towards an uncharted territory.
Sweet smell of living lies filled every vacuum. And maybe for a split second, the voices in my head called it a night.
We were ready to fly. Ready to leave this behind.
In and out of the groove, the music didn’t stop.
“Come and sing me.” It said, as I plucked your strings and sang my song.
Dear, dear was the sound. As dear as your being. You being here.
It was dark, and I had lost myself. Broken patterns began to form. Shades of infidelity smeared all over us. We were there, bound to the beat… slaves to the groove.
No one to save us. Nothing to hold on to.
“Wake up. Wake up now before you disappear again.” Said someone inside of me.
And I had to. It was the moment.