Walk.

What could happen in the sepia blues of shadows that seep through the night as faint footsteps take a turn towards the forgotten that never was. // Tangled up in never was is a pleasant place to be, sometimes. The maybe if // if maybe //dancing in the darkness of eyelids closed and mind melodically musing interchangeably with moonlight dancing still. // // She drifts in and out of the maybes to try to seduce herself back to sleep—but there in eyes is eyes locked beneath threads of trepidation and lips caught slightly pursed as if to pounce on all the maybes in the world, the what ifs and never was and never will be. Those footsteps in the darkness // and // slip slipping into space silently surrendered still. Into the night — perhaps a portal in time and place will open up and allow the slippage — if only if — but never if — (and so) stories stay stories as it all trickles on and on and on and through and through, until she / I drift again // into waking dreams // the dreams waking the interrupted indigo of night.