A pin drops in the silence of the soul, Nothing stirs.
That music which stopped playing then, still doesn't play.
It probably will one day.
Till then, a long stretch of lonesome quiet.
Sounds in the head, pricking memories.
Echoes of forgotten laughter. And raised voices.
A voice so far away.
Quivering promises, raped and lifeless.
Flashes of a face in the endless distance.
A hopeful step forward.
A doubtful step backward.
A hopeful step forward.
A doubtful step backward.
Till hope is slaughtered in its sleep.
It is hard to forget love.
It is harder when love forgets you...
