At least, I've tried.
My time without you is empty, empty, empty.
This particular sadness may best be described
with a lemon cake...the sourness of difficult times
conquered by the sweet perfection of your love.
I can't believe how quickly the days go,
and how slowly the hours move.
This day, especially, is like the march to execution,
simply because the heavy cloud of Saturday night
seems too much to bear. I suppose it will be the death
that Sunday brings a resurrection to.
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