In looms time twined; yet that grain does not escape our mind.
The brief spark of sanity in the twilight of stupor revealed you to me, it was you or just your smile, or just a part of the girl I once knew? Was the French braid yet another mask to hide the scar I kissed. I remember a fringe and flowers in your hair.
Was it you or just another face in the crowd, illuminated in a halogen halo...
Where now does your smile shine, we slipped away in the cracks, though our ghosts still haunt the halls of time. When was it that you went away, that mild wither day as you slowly twined a wisp of your hair around your finger, your cotton candy stained lips. I loved the freckles on your back, that was our secret, are they still there?
I left a part of myself with you to keep wherever you go, has it slipped away now? Or has time bent ever so slightly that our paths have crossed? What has time made of you, daughter of the moon, has it tamed you, your hair that flowed free like the seven rivers into the sea.
Your smile has not dimmed, even though the perfectly symmetrical crescent impressions have faded from my wrist. Your curse worked hair still does not grow there and may never will. I remember your face in the smoke filled room, eclipsing death and dread. You have never been so pale so cold and still years later I dread the tears in your eyes.
With music you stilled time, and as the cello strings snapped, the illusion was broken. For a moment we all saw you as the daughter of the moon, in a heartbeat all faded, and time took over again. Your eyes smiled at me, and for a moment the universe was but a grain of sand.
Where now does your smile shine, we slipped away in the cracks, though our ghosts still haunt the halls of time. When was it that you went away, that mild wither day as you slowly twined a wisp of your hair around your finger, your cotton candy stained lips. I loved the freckles on your back, that was our secret, are they still there?
I left a part of myself with you to keep wherever you go, has it slipped away now? Or has time bent ever so slightly that our paths have crossed? What has time made of you, daughter of the moon, has it tamed you, your hair that flowed free like the seven rivers into the sea.
Your smile has not dimmed, even though the perfectly symmetrical crescent impressions have faded from my wrist. Your curse worked hair still does not grow there and may never will. I remember your face in the smoke filled room, eclipsing death and dread. You have never been so pale so cold and still years later I dread the tears in your eyes.
With music you stilled time, and as the cello strings snapped, the illusion was broken. For a moment we all saw you as the daughter of the moon, in a heartbeat all faded, and time took over again. Your eyes smiled at me, and for a moment the universe was but a grain of sand.
