the traitor in the ceiling let the sunlight in
lazy, sleepy sunlight which hadnt slept for centuries.
time! i hate time!
it covers all in its blanket of dust
weaving a spell of forgetfulness, making memories invisible
all but pain, for pain weaves its own magic,
time heals nothing.
each smile is a camouflage,
a crack, which lets a tear seep through.
if you look long enough,
then each thing beautiful eventually turns ugly
nothing is eternal but pain.