Following me,
Watching.
I'd ask why you hid,
But I don't want to know.
I've convinced myself you're gone,
Your ghost exorcised.
Then you return,
To haunt my dreams
And invade my soul once more.
I can't continue like this-
The longing,
It tears at me,
And I can't believe that you're real.
It cannot be.
Half of me is missing-
It probably never was.
That place where only you exist,
That only you can fill.
But it's still empty.
You're the only thing I've ever wanted,
Yet I can't believe you're real
And I'll spend my life searching-
Believing that one day,
You will be mine.
CSHL- 11 November, 2004. St. Brice, France.
Hopefully, since I'm returning to London today, these dreams will stop- or become more clear. I really don't care which, but all that I know is I can't figure out what is going on in my crooked little skull and a change of venue might help. Clarity is a great thing. I think that I could deal with the most depressing realizations (such as a diagnosis of my own sanity) so long as it was clear and concise. I'm actually tired at the moment, so hopefully tonight I will be able to sleep.
