The Stage Took a Seat, and Watched You

I once thought that dying, 

Would be easier than missing you. 

After each beating blink, 

It was the living that crushed where distance grew. 

An obsession that rains perfume,

A solemn scent with a hazel glance

Passing in these dreaming plumes.

Melancholic seeds in bloom.

Then I thought in your sorrow:

    "Yeah. Me too..." 

Was it better for me, or you? 

Letting go of those known yesterdays

For unknown morrows that never moved?

As for Today what do you, do? 

Repeat the mundane as if it's made anew?

So, Who is haunting, Who?

You are the ghost, I am the room...