My dear melancholy, I don't witness your pale complexion and screeching screams in my sleep anymore.
Pretending to outlive this pestilence, I descend in your relentless memories and touch your faded figure.
This wintered wind through my nostrils,
Makes me remember your fragrance.
Upon these large walls of indecisions.
I see your scarred face, bleeding from within.
We might have lived this life a millennium ago.
Beyond horizons, the snowfall we saw.
I have seen you, I have seen you naked.
On the ice, you slept bleeding to death.
I couldn't touch you, I could've touched you.
