Michael Ende

Maybe all the people who say ghosts don’t exist are just afraid to admit that they do.

Maybe all the people who say ghosts don’t exist are just afraid to admit that they do.

– Michael Ende –

The Neverending Story

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Emilie Autumn

Did you know sometimes it frightens me–when you say my name and I can’t see you?will you ever learn to materialize before you speak?impetuous boy, if that’s what you really are.how many centuries since you’ve climbed a balconyor do you do this every night with someone else?you tell me that you’ll never leaveand I am almost afraid to believe it.why is it me you’ve chosen to follow?did you like the way I look when I am sleeping?was my hair more fun to tangle?are my dreams more entertaining?do you laugh when I’m complaining that I’m all alone?where were you when I searched the seafor a friend to talk to me?in a year where will you be?is it enough for you to steal into my mindfilling up my page with music written in my handyou know I’ll take the credit for I must have made you come to me somehow.but please try to close the curtains when you leave at night,or I’ll have to find someone to stay and warm me.will you always attend my midnight tea parties–as long as I set it at your place?if one day your sugar sits untouchedwill you have gone forever?would you miss me in a thousand years–when you will dry another’s tears?but you say you’ll never leave meand I wonder if you’ll have the decencyto pass through my wall to the next roomwhile I dress for dinnerbut when I’m stuck in conversationwith stuffed shirts whose adorationhurts my ears, where are you then?can’t you cut in when I dance with other men?it’s too late not to interfere with my lifeyou’ve already made me a most unsuitable wifefor any man who wants to be the first his bride has slept withand you can’t just fly into people’s bedroomsthen expect them to calmly wave goodbyeyou’ve changed the course of historyand didn’t even trywhere are you now–standing behind me,taking my hand?come and remind mewho you arehave you traveled farare you made of stardust tooare the angels after youtell me what I am to dobut until then I’ll save your side of the bedjust come and sing me to sleep

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