And so it blows, this hate of mine, away to set on a place past the setting sun of you... or me, I am quite uncertain... But how I wish I could have a shoulder to lean on or to love. Yes I would plead. Yet no one else could fill the tremendous void you haved me recieve And so it blows... the wind, and with it my hopes of me holding you, not you in the arms of him...
Reason for writing:
We all have, or, shall go through the experience of broken hopes and dreams. Like a wilting flower, so does our hope, our hope of holding that person who wants to remain beyond the warmth of our embrace, our care... our love.
And so who are we to be really angry with, if ever you are?
Our object of affection... or ourselves?
Birth sign: Libra
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