To think there was a time in which I knew
I felt this way, a rush too lonesome for
The joyous pain that they all seem to sell,
A constant doubt that it was real, a flame,
That even when I stamped it down refused
To melt away, is rather sad, that I
Cannot recall the place in which I knew
You fill a depth within my soul so deep,
I do not notice till it empties, what
A shame, a pity that this all will change,
And next we speak, perhaps in a
Few hundred days, when you and I recall
The weeks we’ve spent apart and you might say
What I now think, I may not say the same.