Phantom-of-Pharos

Before me rise the white, sterile corridors of despair, my feet being dragged by a force stronger than my will. A voice from within keeps telling me to halt, to turn back and turn my back on everything that once bound me to the man at the end of this corridor; a man I once would do anything to have; how many nights I spent dreaming about him, how many sleeps I lost over the thought of him, how many times I fought the denial of my love for him…did they all perish like a candle that goes out with a mere whimper? The glory of a feeling once so grand it could overcome my greatest resistance…where has it gone? What is this fear inside me

It's cold outside; like the way you were the last time we made love; love…whatever that means. You were cold, as if a thin layer of frost had covered your skin; frozen to the touch, locked-up inside your defenses more than anytime before. I try to remember your face, the way it looked back then. It's hard, though. The deeper I sink into this path of oblivion, the fainter your memories grow. And it's not that I want them to fade away. I really want to remember you; not the way you are now (and not that I would ever know) but how you used to be back when we were still a 'thing'. I blow at my hands; they're gloveless and numb; like your han