I might never meet another you,
But be just a friend is something I couldn't do,
Now my heart is sour and blue,
For what I thought was well knit needed glue,
In such haste a light wind blew,
And alas pieces of my heart flew,
Into an existence of a dark abbys which my future claims it never knew,
For there, the pieces will lie on a dry patch that never knew dew.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC