Space
I imagine there is a space
where dreams are kept alive.
A place where love does not fail.
Where hopes linger for longer,
reconciliation is beyond beauty and light
and lovers do embrace.
I cherish that dream.
This place is fantasy and map,
is torch and mirror,
is engine and road.
My last resource before lights go out.
My last refuge before reality emerges.
So useless, so mad, so necessary...
The dream helps me to walk for longer.
It helps me to love for longer.
It helps me to exist for longer.
How else do you keep love alive unless you imagine it?
How else would you perform at loving unless you
have a long dress rehearsal?
