Written in another lifetime some years ago. But it was real at the time.
On a rainy gray Friday I sat and thought of you; thought of prices paid just for your company; thought of lonely days, silent days, lengthened days, with no sight or sound of you. It’s not the past I fear, but the future I dread. A future with no certainty except of pain and longing, never satisfied, eased only for moments, reappearing stronger for the respite. Submitted Aug 30, 2016
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