There is a room Beneath the city Where unfinished selves Wait quietly We never became But we were possible We never arrived But we were beautiful And somewhere Beyond memory We still exist In maybe I met the painter I never became She knew my face But not my name She smiled softly And walked away still here still here I met the traveler Who stayed too long Collecting countries Like forgotten songs He carried sunsets Inside his coat still moving still moving Some roads vanished Some roads remain Some became stories Without an ending And every version Still leaves a shadow We never became But we were possible We never arrived But we were beautiful And somewhere Beyond memory We still exist In maybe A teacher... A sailor... A poet... A stranger... A thousand quiet lives Breathing together I met an old man Who might be me His pockets filled With different histories He simply nodded As if he knew still waiting still waiting Perhaps no dream Is ever wasted Perhaps no path Is truly gone Perhaps the soul Keeps every version Like constellations After dawn all possible all possible We never became But we were possible We never arrived But we were beautiful And somewhere Beyond memory We still exist In maybe For every life We did not follow For every door We left behind For every self Still waiting patiently We sing tonight still here still here still here The room remains Quietly lit © BStur - All rights reserved
