One day, she flies into my thoughts; she dwells,
circling, the same, across my face;
she holds her smile, and cries to hold my hands,
and promises to last forever.
Today she is near, but not to my heart;
close to my thoughts, but not mine;
she laughs more often now, but with my lost love,
and finds her joy with time.
I am like a fool, waiting on and on —
morning to night, day to dark,
love to hate, and hate to love;
I hope that, someday, she will be mine.
Somewhere aware of my intentions,
she fades away into the diminishing wind —
the preamble to my pinnacle-like heart, again, this time.
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