Vestibule of Time

This might've been where I lived the most.

My back pressed against the covers,

my eyelids closed, my hair a tangled mess.

There is rapture.

In all the things kept

hidden beneath cream floral quilts.

There is truce.

Between what was wanted and what was deserved.

There is silence.

There were uprooted roots being rooted,

there were heart beats being muted.

There was picturesque, or no picture at all.

But love,

I wanted to live forever 

in that vestibule of time

of when you didn't know me still.

And I didn't know you.