Arcadia

77

I know of a little town far away, I have been there so many times, in dreams and daydreams, sometimes on my feet and sometimes in my head. The roads are lined with history and myths, Radha and her naked lover sculpted on ancient walls that long to crumble and return to dust. The soil is rich and red, so is the tea, so are the people. Night falls in patches of blue, the wind carries a shred of a long-lost song and the cries of women who were burned alive by the riverside. Maybe I was one of them. Maybe I, too, burned with a dead lover.

I fall in and out of love with people, but I think this is mine, and mine alone. I, having loved it, being the only one worthy enough of it's love.