This fleet drifts away
Back to you
It tip toes at the brink
Fog reaps the unfamiliar talk
Of broken air, a silent keep to walk
Of dreary souls to shallow sleep
It bitters like wine
borders the taste of cheap
For he would not wait for me
Who am I to think
Half turned awake and
Yet half asleep
At the end,

It was always you

Text by Rosa Pyo
Visual by Laura Oyuela

1 comment

  1. both the visual and text work brilliantly together. breathtaking honestly