Unravel

Back among the mountains, I keep on getting on the wrong tram.

I need to go home, to leave, but I end up going in the opposite direction. 

Shops that only sell strawberry ice cream, fresh clouds of familiar shapes. 

I’m there with someone, I think. I don’t outright see them, but I can sense their presence. 

Time clouds my memory, I keep on getting on the wrong tram. The way home rolls behind me like yarn, and disappears more and more behind each curve.