You’re dissolving, an invisible flame burns the pages quietly in the stillness of your study. Ashen skies glow softly, cradling the twilight sun; soft autumn light drizzles between branches, beyond the sliding window of your routine. You’re are fading, while scribbling the usual, at your desk.
My body only wants a moment, this very one, no past or future, no history to tell, no projections for tomorrow. In this way I will disappear too, and though you’ll remember I was dear to you, though you might keep the tenderness, the vague tune that was me, you’ll find we cannot precisely repeat the tones anymore. And somehow, the song does live.
We have been, back when the game seemed so real, and I made myself believe the tattered reality, sewn together by familial duties, but no, nothing comes now, I’ve got no product to show, I never could stitch like that, like you do.
This is my new direction, it breaks off under that archway of trees, at the fork where we’re heading. All the while you´ll believe you can still hear the discards of autumn crunching under our steps. Now you must keep me as that song you can’t really remember. It keeps lingering on the tip of your tongue, between a memory and certainty. Soft as the pale January light, distant as a busy butterfly, ashen as the last of the shrivelled pages, ashes wafting in the study before final disintegration.
Know I tried my best, I played the role just for you.