An American muse came to inhabits the silent walls of my mind. During the week when I made love to the wayward wanderer, my soul was working well beyond its capacity and the cobwebs were being dusted out for the new epoch of its life.
Now when the capacities of my mind attempt to speak… a million of fireflies illuminates the caves full of eternity and celestial light is beaten into the dark crevices of my heart, once and never I have and forgotten how to love in such a way that makes it impossible to forget to love again. All the mystery of the ocean is contained in his dreamer eyes and his hands build secret ways to the immortality each night.
Yet these muses are unable to be owned as we mere mortals, children even are owned.
The flashes of celestial light is left as a pure memory, which even the lines of the most beautiful poem are unable to explain the warm constellation of love that surrounded me my dear muse.
Traveller, wanderer, muse, god, passenger of the snow: thank you for the magic.
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