There is something imperceptibly attractive about falling towards gravity.
Imagine existing inside a kaleidoscope, but with a little more clarity.
Your long forgotten heart flutters its weary wings, gets ready to fly,
then bursts like frisky fireworks on the fourth of July,
somersaulting frivolously, dismissing the ground beneath,
understanding the real meaning behind "just breathe".
And then for just a second, time stops,
and the world becomes a paradigm for broken clocks,
one in which the white rabbit is never late,
and good things come to those who wait.
It's a free fall in slow motion,
frozen, like the Arctic Ocean.
Skyscrapers disappear, and
we are now and we are here.
We time travel to a whole new land,
naked, but slightly covered in sand.
I ask and you reply.
I might just do it. I might just try.
Because with gravity on our side,
we might as well collide.
Imagine existing inside a kaleidoscope, but with a little more clarity.
Your long forgotten heart flutters its weary wings, gets ready to fly,
then bursts like frisky fireworks on the fourth of July,
somersaulting frivolously, dismissing the ground beneath,
understanding the real meaning behind "just breathe".
And then for just a second, time stops,
and the world becomes a paradigm for broken clocks,
one in which the white rabbit is never late,
and good things come to those who wait.
It's a free fall in slow motion,
frozen, like the Arctic Ocean.
Skyscrapers disappear, and
we are now and we are here.
We time travel to a whole new land,
naked, but slightly covered in sand.
I ask and you reply.
I might just do it. I might just try.
Because with gravity on our side,
we might as well collide.