Second thoughts are not the two words I would choose
To describe what I feel now
Post mortem
But I do now reconsider letting you in
Time is not the only variable to consider in this equation
I do wish
I do, I wish
That I recalled more
However it is but a tell tale sign of the weight
That this, and these encounters may bear: not much
Which in itself is a tragedy
As you are the only semblance of excitement titillating this macabre story of my existence as we speak
Our ghosts roam the same freezing pungently moist stone dungeon hallways
But we never meet
I know the cell in which you are bound but I do not float past in fear of waking other spirits
Fear is not something I feel when united with you
It reflects the true foolishness and carelessness and impishness of this, my pointless existence as we speak
How can I abandon possibly the only ghost that sends me to the upmost corner of my prison to hit the highest notes (But does he not yet? Eternity we have, but do we not yet?)
Grey faced I peer down and think of my past life as a mortal
Perhaps it was not the right way to do things
But it did not feel wrong at the time
I wanted you to be happy and so clearly you were not
Perhaps it was the wrong way
It did not feel truly right at the time
Sometimes I wonder if I had had the courage to cease
If it would have made a difference to the ending of our story
The thing now is that I can remember what it felt like to be that empty
Feeling each second on the clock tick
Not hearing it, but actually feeling my heart beat along with the clock knowing that the time I had left to devour you was fleeting
Not the direction in which I wanted to go
But sometimes nature takes over
A huntress may have been your deepest darkest mortal desire
As was I
To meet again may not be the wisest choice
But it may be the necessary one
Regardless of Father Time
Wants and Needs meet their match when Nature and Time clash like cymbals
And this is when decisions are made without decisions being made
In the end,
You are the phantom that I will wander after
The wonderless threat of the age old argument, chains and no chains
There is nothing I am meant to be
And for this, it is how it will stay
Cove Girl 