The dream can live
if you let it,
in this familiar shadowy light,
and the way it plays amongst the leaves.
Besides,
all memory's the same.
one picture,
of a million moments,
caught together,
in the decaying net of time.
And as one,
after another,
slips away,
more things,
than could ever have been imagined
are seen,
felt,
and lost;
while waiting for the time to come,
when it doesn't hurt anymore,
to see all the beauty
that we cannot have.
If you wish to live,
you must feel.
Everything.
But if you wish to die,
you must suffer,
and not realize,
they are not the same.
