Euripides.

As ephemeral as the scintillating waltzes of vapour sprung from ceaseless traffic, my cerebrations on our posthumous love would evanesce with the arrival of the eventide coach. Quotidian routine and idle drivel would serve to further diminish my memory of you. But perhaps it’s time to forget?

I remember when we were free to dream untamed dreams of luster, careless children basking in the joys of being young and optimistic, without the chains of responsibility and reality that would shackle us in the later years of our life. We were teenagers. We were invincible. But perhaps it’s time to forget?

Your departure has bequeathed me with lackadaisical oneirisms where you and i are not separated by the Atlantic and demise (and i do honestly thank you for that).

In amorous whispers, you would ask me in that mellifluous tone that i ache so much for.
“Who am i to you?”

“You are my tragedy’s deus ex machina.”

But perhaps it’s time to forget.

Update 241207
Come back to me please, i need you now, more than ever.

~ by cryhavok on December 22, 2007.