~ Ephemeral Visage ~

"The birds are returning North," I wonder who was it who said that birds are free? It's true they have wings to be able to travel Wherever, whenever they wish to, But if there's no branches or shelters for them to rest on, Maybe they will even begrudge having wings. I guess what one eventually needs is a place That he knows he can return to, at the end of the day, Whether he realises it or not. We live for ourselves, And lead, not live, The coming day.

My past looked me in the eyes tonight. A young girl, a figure out of my past. She glanced into my eyes, turned around, and seated herself. Memories are an interesting things. They are ghosts, dead, trapped in a house that is now inhabited by the living. They are forever traveling the infinite corridors of the mind. Trapped in the castle of my head, they haunt my thoughts. The image of a face turns down the wrong hallway, spectres discover it, plague it, follow it into the innermost rooms of the manor. Like poltergeists, they haunt the living, the present. They torment me, and refuse to leave. I need an exorcism of the mind, I need to purge myself of these old ghosts. Dead and gone, but still hanging on to the edges of my imagination, being pulled back by something as simple as a glance from a girl I don't know. From a girl I once knew. From a girl I know. Who is trapped in the halls of my mind.

I'm scared. So afraid to show I care. Will he think me weak? If I tremble when I speak... What if there's another one he's thinking of, Maybe he's in love, I'd feel like a fool Life can be so cruel, I don't know what to do. Whenever a chance knocks at my door, Trepidation floods my core. I wonder, if it's Fate's ploy once more To crash me six feet beneath Her floor.