maelynslavik

Once, we met. 

My hair was up, and the world was coated with snow,

and you

 talked to me with wide blue eyes

and a slippery smile, easy to fall into.

Two doors, both locked, neither mine.
Two names, one I gave up.
Two voices, both demanding I choose.
A home is a shelter. A home is a question.

I like the pace of time. I think that life tends to move on on just the right cadence, and if I had a Time Machine I would use it to lock time at its current pace.