Prelude - Jas

The weeks slip through our fingers like the dry sand blowing across the dunes

Swept into a cardboard box filled with forgotten photographs

And abandoned songs

The past few years are illuminated only by the dim glow

Of a sun setting in the east

It’s almost night

I scour the landscape trying to make out your familiar shape against the horizon

But it’s amazing how rarely our paths cross considering we share the same bed

The sand stings my face and I keep walking, keep looking

And I can barely make out the sound of my own voice beneath the wind:

Maybe we’ll be alone