Bread on a porcelain plate,
in a forgotten corner it’s still so dark out.
A head that can’t think of anything but that melody coming from a strange library,
giant glass windows.
Sitting under a big tree leaf hiding from the future,
on a breakfast table there are many details,
and there is warmth.
on a breakfast table nothing matters but the little sounds that takes us to another dimension, like a time machine.
like falling dust, dreams slowly pass in front of your eyes.
a cloud moves so the sun is here again
memories speaks so loud in a silent voice.
soon the universe will wake up,
soon this will be the last sip of tea,
soon it will be quiet like every other day,
soon the table will be left alone again.
