A Kind of Paradise

I woke up in a garden, the other morning. People think I’ve got back since, but I never did.

That garden didn’t have any joggers, panting labs or grass sticking out the pavement cracks.

But, there was a peculiar tree with drooping bulbs like flowers which randomly opened up to sprinkle bits of lost joy, lost love.

I spent the afternoon catching them. I am beaming with love.

There were others there, standing beneath other trees and other shades. No one spoke, but I felt the care.

The air buzzed with kef and lazy bliss.

People think we returned, but we never did.

I doubt we ever will.

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