Belief, in all its fragility, can never be as concrete as I need it to be. Especially when it is you who stands on the other side of Forever.
Grant me this one illusion, when my eyes search for a familiar vessel
of which you once inhabited.
Necessity commands very little from me. It is, instead, the urgency of my temperament that knowingly murders tranquility.
Completion; an empty promise, born from the most disloyal of hearts. Choice is unreasonable in its demands for answers that I am simply not permitted to give.
Hours, of which there are so few – Still, convince me this will last and last until the extinction of time.
But beauty resonates through the silence of your eyes, which deny me the acceptance of truth altogether.
I ask only that you let me Believe and with that, realise the extent of this selfishness. I ask too much, I realise.
Speculation will get you no further into what remains, of that I am sure but I dare not stop you in this futile pursuit of lost time.
Minutes pass, yet the skies from beyond the window pane paint pictures all too familiar to associate with change.
The turning screws of the cyclical realm never seem to rust yet inches and inches of dust circulate in between the cracks.
I mean not to isolate. Simply to achieve a monumental hour on this ground, whilst the faint echoes of life still fall softly upon my head.
Grant me this one illusion, when my eyes search for a familiar vessel
of which you once inhabited.
Necessity commands very little from me. It is, instead, the urgency of my temperament that knowingly murders tranquility.
Completion; an empty promise, born from the most disloyal of hearts. Choice is unreasonable in its demands for answers that I am simply not permitted to give.
Hours, of which there are so few – Still, convince me this will last and last until the extinction of time.
But beauty resonates through the silence of your eyes, which deny me the acceptance of truth altogether.
I ask only that you let me Believe and with that, realise the extent of this selfishness. I ask too much, I realise.
Speculation will get you no further into what remains, of that I am sure but I dare not stop you in this futile pursuit of lost time.
Minutes pass, yet the skies from beyond the window pane paint pictures all too familiar to associate with change.
The turning screws of the cyclical realm never seem to rust yet inches and inches of dust circulate in between the cracks.
I mean not to isolate. Simply to achieve a monumental hour on this ground, whilst the faint echoes of life still fall softly upon my head.
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