Tender in the winter sun, grass sprouts out of the cold earth, slowly… s l o w l y. . . She has an important interview tomorrow and I have just another day. She walks around wearing a heavy thought upon her brow and running shoes on her feet. Last night she had reminded me of dance… of romance… In my sleep though, I’d felt imprisoned… I had spoken, I am told, I had expressed a strong yearning for freedom… As I punched the wall in sleep, in desperation, in an uninhibited honesty, there was grass outside, bathing in cold winter moonlight.
I gently brush the young blades of green grass with my fingertips and breathe. I wait for her to take off those shoes and the words weighing down upon her brow. Patience is such a precious piece of being… Pity I’ll forget that soon and wear heavy thoughts upon my brow… running shoes on my feet… Pity I’ll forget how tender the grass is under my feet… Pity I’ll punch the wall again, in sleep, in desperation, in an uninhibited honesty known only to dreams… Remember me freedom. I’ll miss you.