Moonbeams are burning while heartbeats are learning
Something stirs. The feeling of an ant marching to the top of one's neck, waiting to be so easily forgotten. Not even a hint of a footnote. Every single one of its ilk lost through the ebb of space and time. Out of sight, out of mind, out of any real deductible purpose. So it stirs. Now the emotions ramp up. Tick, tock, tickle, pop. The crescendo dances to the swing of French beat. Rain from the ground. From here onwards we delve into a nostalgic mood swing. Two steps. We lost sight of the sound. We lost sense to the crowd. We could have had it all. But the echoes swallowed it whole.