Why don't you exist to me anymore? Your idea lingers behind my eyes but never make it to my life. The thought of your name still brings a savory lust for the times of past to my lips, and yet I can never taste them. I wish I knew I wish I could hear what you would say. Honest be, to me you are a ghost of rosen glass. The dye must go at last, you should know you hold that key. My best memory from you is the smile that sighed something I knew I could never have. If words could kill, that 'if' would slip as smooth as silk into my side. And if I thought of you, what then? And if you said a word, what then? And if I came to call, what then? Would I see the years' work on our photograph hanging in your memory? Perhaps sunlight has faded the colors to gray, or darkness has preserved them in its own gross static.
I wait for the day you come back to the world. When I hear your voice over the telephone, I'll believe. When I see your smile hiding in front of me, you will be real. And when I feel your distance once again, you will be gone forever, and I will be able to sleep.
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