A repeated feat, just as dusk lusts for dawn: Nights blend seemlessly with the days they seek. Infatuation to the greatest degree because if it was love, they'd have found a way to suceed. Sun would share the sky with stars, a liminal space split in half. The ultimate comprimise for exisiting. When will the missing Him dull to an ache I can bare? or is this the price? Would the abscene of pain simply mean the abscene of Him? because if so, I'd rather dispare in the knowledge that just like the dawn, I'm cursed to an eternity one step before Him, forever casting shadows.