The creaking door leads into an empty courtyard.
The floor is strewn with leaves that have grown crisp with age.
Nothing seems out of place. Yet, none where it was left.
It's all one big picture.
So complete in all its completeness.
It does not feel strange.
No, not strange at all,
for this is not the only that has been ravaged by time.
The clock has ticked on, ages have gone by
still here are smells as fresh as yesterday.
It is what I dream of, a sincere dream,
still only a figment of my imagination.
A single thread that refuses to break, I refuse to let go.
A faint whisper talks about the days gone by -
beautiful, painful, dreams, realities all woven together.
There are those that came true,
there are those that were shattered.
There are those that stayed mine,
there are those that were snatched away.
Each plays before my eyes as I walk on.
There are no complaints, no resigned ambitions now.
What remains is a longing to live it all again,
a hollow desire, an empty wish.
