Our love knows neither kiss or touch, we are embracing dust, air or ourselves when visualizing what we've lost. Awoken by a sound or scent, some visions call sad phantoms ..., floating, wrapped in fading colours ...- our lament.
And then there is the all-devouring dread:
"some day I might not bring him back ..., when my feeble mind can't help but lose the contours of his face".
Lost forever, lone and sad, gone forever to the dead ...- so far beyond the barriers of the opposite space.
Yet, alas, despite it all ...
walking through these deserted halls ...
It's easy ... still ... to love the dead...-
It's easier to love the dead.
