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Morning

I used to wake up each morning to a thought from you.
You'd stay up late as was your wont
(Do you still stay up late, I wonder)
And you would write me the most lovely things
Things that filled my soul
Things that made me whole
Things I could scarcely believe
I still can't believe that you saw me that way
That you felt about me the way you said
That anyone could care for me like that
Because no one else ever has
And I don't think it's possible to find twice

I sometimes wish I had kept those thoughts
But they'd only serve as reminders
Of what I don't have now

And each time I read them
My heart would rend anew
And the light would vanish from my soul
And those sweet golden tendrils which bound us
Together
Would slip away like frost in the cold morning light

Alas! My heart!
That I knew such love
And now it is no longer mine!

It's not a wound that will heal. It's just not. How can my soul be whole again when all I feel is despair? When a real part of me is gone? When my eyes have beheld such beauty and my heart known such light and joy and peace and love - real, genuine, filling, complete love - only to have my eyes plucked out and my heart turn to stone?

All really is vanity

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