|It's far from Dead.
||[May. 22nd, 2005|03:05 am]
There's a life out there. A life I cannot touch. A deep hollow in the pit of my stomach and a stinging bitter grief that weighs my eyelids shut like the first and last moments of sleep.
He's a worried looking ghost, a mere skeleton of recollection, but he laughs and with vigour as the familiar grin spreads up his adult features, transforming him into a child.
How long have I loved you? How I long to have loved you. How I have loved you too long, and yet the time is trickling away through my fingers in a poor cascade of sorrow.
How has it been that I have had you and I have not spent every waking moment with you in my arms? This torment shall be one that haunts me in my dreams for many years to come, when you cannot be mine, for you are dead to me as the evening star in the sunrise fades leaving a trail of dim light.
How is it that I have loved too long, and loved too late? How is it that I stretch my fingers to catch the last tendrils I can catch, when I know the truth eludes me as will our eternity. Transient eternity, ever changing, ever alternating, even then shall I love your soul when the Earth claims your body.
Why is it that I should be only one, when foolish I could have been both you and I in the sunrise? The moon will come and with him, the night who will draw out the silver strands of your spirit, and I will be too distant to fight him away.
Why is it that such beauty and passion will die along with the flames of this sky? Why is it that although I know the Earth is alight, it shall all be too soon when my angel crumbles to dust and falls from my mantel?
Why, when your soul screams, I shall always hear it's call, even when I am too far to reach out to touch you? Why will this desperate yearning well up inside my chest and burst into a million stars, leaving me nothing but a blood stained cloth which tells more of my love than words ever could?
Take this, the gift I wanted to give you - the spoils of a wasted life without you, gone to waste. Turned to dust as the scars of memory of a life that never existed dig too deep, opening old wounds.
This world never existed, this memory I create. This perfect world we were never born into, where you and I would lay together, as we fell in love when the Earth was young. Where I gently stroke your hair back from your timeless eyes, your ancient smile flashes in my direction as we embrace, while the chaos of the universe coming into being rages all around our place of calm.
Never was a hurt deeper to injure the very soul of it's bearer in wanton self destruction. Never was a love more desperate to unfasten the fabric of time, so it might spend an extra moment embracing you in the maelstrom.