Hyde

Sometimes flames can burn too bright.

And singe us both with its wicked dance.

My Sonata in the Moonlight. Byron's poems brought to life. Such mystery in your eyes, such desperation in your love. Like moments were forever fleeting and we might never make love again one day. Your tears upon my shoulder, of passion, of sadness you could not explain; of that endless understanding that today's splendour would one day be gone.

And it so overwhelmed you that you mourned that eventuality even in the moment of joy. Your turbulent song of joy and sorrow. A ballad we would sing together as you taught me its melody. But we never found harmony...

Our yearning ballad; ever waxing, ever waning. Like the moonlight that bathed our bodies.

As the nights quickly ticked away. There was wisdom in your prophecy. For all must wane and fade away. So too did we.

Burning passion, clinging desperately against inevitable tomorrow. Where our love is but a history, dancing in and out of the flickering projector reel in our minds.

I could not heal the darkness in your soul or ease your suffering. I could not help you find a calm in the storm. And eventually you no longer let me try.

I remember you vanishing. A ghost in the wind. Me holding the fading embers in my shaking hands.

Me writing letters to shadows that would never reply. Left with only a picture and a half burnt candle to remind you were here once. A weeping angel that did not take me with you.