apparitions

I can’t tell you what I’d say

if I was to never see your face

slip into my life or out of my mind

again.

Words wouldn't sound right,

pieced together with restlessness.
When I’m trying to sleep at night

your melody comes my way.

Singing me to sleep,

among the crickets and the weeping willows.

Dreams of how we walked shoulder to shoulder;

close but not quite yet.

Perhaps that’s all we’ll have - 

The memories we’ve made.

Pictures worth a thousand words

that can never be sounded out;

right and true and beautiful.

Ringing ears and beating hearts;

I could feel a beat within your chest,

I can  still see it when I look at you.

It sings me to sleep

among the stars and the wind whistles.

Dreams of walking fast but still too slow,

our steps matching rhythms.

And when I shut my eyes
there you be;

clear but still elusive to me.

photo via (we heart it)

Even in literature or art no man who cares about originality will ever be original. It’s the man who is only thinking about doing a good job or telling the truth who becomes really original, but doesn’t notice it. Even in social life, you never make a good impression on other people until you stop thinking what sort of impression you make. That principle runs all through life from the top to the bottom. Give up yourself and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, submit with every fibre of your being and you will find eternal life. - C.S. Lewis