November was always cold: so were the voids.
The winter's wind as it comes leaving old bruises familiarly stained.
Stained by the infinite loops of the days went by and the days to come.
Gazing at the endless darkness of the night.
Consciously the rusted melodies continued somehow.
Subconsciously was again the golden threads.
Golden yet rusty but radiant threads.
Melodies were always a companion of every breath.
They know my heart well.
But i refuse the words to act on my chest.
My subconscious still goes to the empty voids yet as always.
Still i tend to find the answers beneath the endless darkness every night and everyday.


© lilac_