We've met before. 
Somewhere between the sun, somewhere between the moonlight. 
I speak to you as if it was the end of all things, you speak to me as if it was the beginning of it all. 
Perhaps maybe we are both mistaken. 
Somewhere between the stars, somewhere between the night. 
I am simply observing, what you are and what was mine. Hoping one day, we meet again. 
Maybe not as lovers but m...

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The truth is the feeling of the absence of feeling is the loudest.

To become so accustomed to it that once it's gone the customs are blind and without direction.

Memory's flow throughout the mind when the scent of it strikes the nose like past against the present.

Without thinking of it you feel the brush of air slide from the base of the neck to the crest of the ear.

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