Beyond dreams lie your reflection but you don’t recognise yourself, because you’re someone else.
Beyond the universe is a small house with a nice garden decorated with an assortment of colourful flowers, surrounded by a white picket fence and you’re having coffee while reading the morning newspaper on the kitchen table. Instead of a page for eulogies, there’s a page full of people’s apologies.
Beyond that, the sky is transparent and you can see clearly into infinity, it’s colour is in infrared and forever is a waveless ocean at the edge of this house that you can scoop a piece of simply by dipping your hand in. It’s cold to the touch but somehow your palms feel softer and cleansed, you can never get enough of it.
Beyond you and me, we’ll never feel like this again.
Beyond time, you wonder if you’re dying soon and you’re in this room that’s blinding white and you’re not sure if you’re floating or falling but it feels like your first date, minus the anticipation, and it’s the worst feeling and the best feeling at the same time.
Beyond reason, I’m driving a 1985 BMW 3 series convertible down an empty road that stretches between yesterday and tomorrow and the radio is playing “Let it be” by The Beatles. It’s funny because I don’t have this song on my Ipod and I imagine this would make for a cliche type of music video but I don’t care here, for anything, it seems.
Beyond you and me, there’s God, and he knows exactly why we met. But he’ll never tell you.
