In agony, the desert waits impatient for us to arrive. “You’re late” he says, but we’re never late, we’re always on time, right before the violet sunset, right before the rain.
Believe it or not, the desert has a voice and it sounds just like yours; when in hazy nights I call out your name as I write fictitious characters to avoid these feelings of loneliness.
Drawing clouds in the horizon, I’ll wait for your return. Then, we’ll watch the violet sunset. Then, we’ll dance under the rain, dissolving every road for us never to depart.