Eyes of old times...

I can't talk to him. He just brings up these memories that were too fun, back in days where my love for new things was more important than my idealism. I have dreams now... dreams that I know I can fulfill. Stop telling me that I'm beautiful, or that you want me. You can't have me; that part of me is sacred.

This is what it has come down to. Torn to and from hell and back, my emotions split in a rift that overpowered his ebb-and-flow, and parted the seas as Moses did.

Why have I abandoned the ideas and emotions that I once loved. The thrills of discovery and fascination linger no more. I can't light that candle for you, because it's a vigil I do not await.

Now I know what I am missing... the philosophy is gone, dearly departed in blizzards of bitterness and repentence. Empty are the ideas, vacant is my rhetoric and appeased is my conscience.