Magic

In those very quiet moment. Those lonely and dark blankets nights, when our only friends are the sounds of long lost blues and sad memory tapes.
We hear deep voices and we hear them quite clearly. The ones from those ones that can never be forgotten. Those ones we can't rid ourselves of because of how much they robbed us of us and all we are is who they are.
We are taken aback by the quiet times and glittering days. The crystals produced by our eyes and enjoyed by our cheeks until even our tongue gets a taste of it and our noses overflows.
We are broken by the sounds of those voices, made whole in our pieces shattered to gold dust on ravaging floors. Put together by deep sinking and scattered by the exit to nothingness.
We close our eyes and hope it all goes away and wish most of it never happened. We want it all to go away but wish it never left us behind. We want it all to stay but want it to get out of our minds.
The sad songs role again in swift hours as passengers pass their choruses by us. We look for that one direction that makes us complete but sink into pink days of gloom.
We try to forget but we don't. We remember it all too well. We won't forget what brought us here again. We won't forget the magic even if its sorcerers are dead.

Scott C. Eneje.