It's funny how her face could make a man sober after thirty years of being
Liken to calming a stormy sea.
And in my reverie I realize that she meant more to me than sunlight to
flowers or the air in my lungs.
I once forgot so easily how truly great she was.
Some days I would remember, other days she was just lost.
Caught between my troubled soul and the toil of day to day life.
I could never tell her any of this for some wounds run too deep, all forged
So I sit stock still and silent as the grave, which is, ironically, the very
thing I am digging for myself.
To learn from this is what I find to be paramount and I have indeed taken
from this more than heartache.
I have learned that a fool is never truly aware of himself until the day he
lets his true love get away from him.
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