It was easier then

to dream

without falling

like a bird

kissed upon

smiling ~

I cannot go back to the places in-between.  Although the darkest night and fullest moon still glow with stars begging to lead the way.  It has become a forbidden scorn.  A hurt turned scar.  A dream before waking, and better still for not keeping.  A shadow, a glance.  Not half, nor real, nor past, but a laugh.  A delicate brush ~ 

Dare not acknowledge the weight of a feather.