Yesterday, I dipped my finger in the moonlight and painted my name on the sky of your soul.
Your trees sprang to life under its glow and I could feel you smiling quietly behind the closed curtains of your eyes.

My name bears the history of my disappointments and joys, the seemingly endless roads toward myself and you.
So many stories are crammed between its letters.

Like many other things, it’s now floating silently somewhere, in the space between us.
And I am here, following this slow dance, like a bolero writer.