sábado, 28 de noviembre de 2009

y ya [no] te importa

Thinking 'bout the times I know I should have taken photographs, something to rely on, sharper than a memory. 'Cause chemistry dictates them, they're not coloured by emotion, they're coloured by the shades of how things used to be.
And nothing breaks the heart much more than looking at old photographs, when you can taste the moment, and worse still, if it's passed. They're gone now to the future, but you still can't deny them, like a song that's sung.
Regret, is like a filter, that colours all your endeavours and once put on becomes a feature of your current works. What I fear, is that all of these things I hold dear, never become more than vibrations in air.
Voices in the air, they echo in my head like radios, scratchy frequencies and static in between words. They're all on the wind now, but I bet I never told you, I missed you when you were gone.

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