You are a song,
I sometimes hear,
in the back of my mind,
when I am away with the fairies.
I called you last night,
awaking with the memory of you,
for what I became,
after we parted ways,
all the ways I was so different,
and the ways I’d stayed the same.
I think that maybe I’ve been driven mad,
by days that became weeks,
weeks that went on far too long,
but then I see you,
and I love you,
in a languishing,
and I realise that I was always a little bit mad.
I had to be,
give my mind, entirely, to you.