Before I even knew her name I heard a ring as loud as could be.
With wings this fairy sings a song I've heard, but not from memory.
Far away or near, she's here to tell me all of her silly fears.
I cry and smile listening to the memories of her voice so clear.

Dare I say that quickly from nothing,
abruptly that something I've felt never before?
Clouded in dust is a mind full of lust,
and a heart beating harder than ever before.

I could fall asleep forever now
as long as I knew that I’d dream of her.
With the thrill of a kiss I have dealt with this.
She’s an echo of a whisper

I knew that I'd find her
But I wasn't looking.

Our mind is a riot
Hardly swaying out of fantasy.

At most its perfection
But still waiting for something.

Our body is fire
So we burn brighter.

I'm still not looking
because now I have found
that Belle has a ring to her,
what a beautiful sound.

This unfinished painting of a drawn out summer
still finely coated in a sheet of dust.
We paint our days with history
still floating on top of our mysteries.

Together or apart I'm falling over
to understand the time we've had.
With knowing and understanding apart
I write, I know not where to start.
So let the letters fall their own way.
I'll live to note another day.

The wall in my mind won't torture me
but if you won't listen I will not be.

We've cremated the gods and they surely know,
still we dance around in their summer snow.

She told me she was incomplete
she stared at me and cried.
We tried to fly so far away
and sink into the sky.

Nothing ever took my breathe away as much as her.
So I took every action just to see inside her world.
If I was lost I'd find a hand to blindly pull me through.
She kept this land more secret than the places that I knew.

More colors than I've ever seen some new inside of me,
Her energy surrounded us and swept me off my feet.
So now I fall upwards away from anything she was,
I asked myself if she would love me, now I know she does.

She asked herself if I was there
to free her from her dream.
It seems to be that I was sleeping now It's only me.
I ask myself again if I knew her from down inside.
An hour passed and then at last her memory had died.

I knew I was so incomplete
Alone I woke and cried.
A half forgotten memory
of a woman not alive.

She sat in the back with a book,
never thinking of the heart she took.
As the music passed her by
the man that sang was dying.

Lets see her check the time.
Lets see her drink her wine.
"Okay on to page five!"
She cripples him all night.

The brightest of jewels couldn't buy her,
striding, careless while the earths on fire
and as the mountains flew away
he sang, she read, yet nothing was said.

To make her story last
he tried a pen and paper
and wrote from back to front,
then finally he met her.

the book was still unfinished
but another story started.
He sang a tale of romance,
she read a tragedy.

Isn't it funny how there's a first and last person to do anything?

Who was the first person to give a kiss on the lips?
    Who'll be the last?
Who was the first person to play the piano?
        Who will be the last?
The first to see their own face in a reflection?
            The last?
The first to eat pineapple on pizza?
               The last?
The list goes on and its sort of insane to think about.
This is the kind of **** that keeps me up at 5AM.