As well as being a place to indulge my love of Hipstamatic and iPhone photos, this is a blog of images and words. Of little vignettes and quiet corners from a place in my head, a place I call The Moth House. Of significant, and also small, happenings there, the wanderings and musings and sad reveries of it's occupants, The Parted Lovers.

Friday


He was always there these days,
in her dreams,
hidden behind her eyes. 
Waiting quietly for the still moments,
the unsuspecting moments when suddenly 
he was all she could see or smell or hear.
The memory of him was slowly consuming her.

She had left him.
But he had not left her.