HOME | DD

Description
Missing Isabelle

I walk through the empty halls of this Victorian mansion,
but the sound of you playing the piano no longer accompanies me.
Through visions of the past, haunting me with every step.
Everything that out-lived you has decayed…

As I sit on my couch, there is no light shinning on me anymore.
All the candelabra lay broken and empty.
The scent of your candles has long vanished from here,
your presence is no longer felt.
Wind comes through the broken window,
making the ripped curtains flow like ghosts.
Ghosts of our past. Of you. Of us…
Ghosts I’ve tried so hard to forget.
To move on…
But they’ll always be there.

This was once the cradle of our love.
Now, it is no more than a shadow of what it once was.
Sometimes I can still hear the whispers we shared,
echoing throughout the halls.
Sometimes, when I look outside at night
I can see you, your ebony hair flowing in the wind.
I always call out for you, but it’s as if you can’t hear me.

Is it all just a vision?
No, it can’t be.
I know you’re there…
Sometimes, when I lay in my bed at night,
I can still feel your hand, caressing my hair, just as I fall asleep.
It eases this pain inside, and reminds me of a better time.
The memory of your touch gives me a calming feeling,
which I haven’t felt since you past away.
And sometimes… Just sometimes…
I hear your voice, whispering your last words to me:
“Love never dies…”

Rafael 'Devilloc' Sousa
21.06, 14-12-2008

Description
Missing Isabelle

I walk through the empty halls of this Victorian mansion,
but the sound of you playing the piano no longer accompanies me.
Through visions of the past, haunting me with every step.
Everything that out-lived you has decayed…

As I sit on my couch, there is no light shinning on me anymore.
All the candelabra lay broken and empty.
The scent of your candles has long vanished from here,
your presence is no longer felt.
Wind comes through the broken window,
making the ripped curtains flow like ghosts.
Ghosts of our past. Of you. Of us…
Ghosts I’ve tried so hard to forget.
To move on…
But they’ll always be there.

This was once the cradle of our love.
Now, it is no more than a shadow of what it once was.
Sometimes I can still hear the whispers we shared,
echoing throughout the halls.
Sometimes, when I look outside at night
I can see you, your ebony hair flowing in the wind.
I always call out for you, but it’s as if you can’t hear me.

Is it all just a vision?
No, it can’t be.
I know you’re there…
Sometimes, when I lay in my bed at night,
I can still feel your hand, caressing my hair, just as I fall asleep.
It eases this pain inside, and reminds me of a better time.
The memory of your touch gives me a calming feeling,
which I haven’t felt since you past away.
And sometimes… Just sometimes…
I hear your voice, whispering your last words to me:
“Love never dies…”

Rafael 'Devilloc' Sousa
21.06, 14-12-2008