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There are people all around.
Familiar faces,
Laughs.
You pretend you're okay.
You Laugh,
Smile,
Take pictures--
But they know.
They know you're hurting,
You're breaking.
Although you're surrounded
You feel utterly alone.

In a time of great need
Your best friend leaves.
In a time of need
Your love is gone.
You reach out for something--
Anything--
To break that fall.
But you fall,
And fall,
And keep falling.
Until you land
Flat on your face.

The pain--
At first,
It's like when you put your hand
On something hot.
You know it should hurt,
But you can't feel it yet.
You're so shocked you just stare
You can't believe it's happening.
Then it comes,
And all you want to do is scream
Scream as loud as you can
Make it go away.
Scream for help.

They come running.
They put a bandage on it.
Say you'll forget it by the time you're married.
But it's there.
Always there.
It takes a while to heal.
It itches.
Burns.

You pick at it,
And it's fresh blood
All over again.
The pain is back
Like it never left.
It heals faster this time,
But it still itches--
Still burns.
When it's finally healed,
It's scarred.
Forever burned,
Forever impaired.
Soft curvy hips
Sweet smiling lips
Eyes so deep
Kisses on the cheek
Warm embraces
Safe places
A strong sound mind
A million words kind
Heaps of laughter
The morning after
A gentle touch
I can't get enough
Curvy and perky
Spontaneous and quarky
Full of fun
Bright as the sun
Laying in bed
My chin on your head

These are the things I love about you.
Trees Sway In Chilled Winds,
Sights Of You Make Me Weary,
My Mind Dangerous,
Dangerously Close To You,
And Thinking Of You Again
A dream is only a dream while you're sleeping,
Awakened by the call of dawn and beautiful sunrise,
It quietly disappears,
Faded into distant and unimportant memory,
Hope is a dream while awake,
It too often passes away,
Like an old friend,
Gone with shocking abruptness,
And fading away are the memories of each,
Old friends and hopes and dreams,
A part of us is taken away with them,
Leaving us to wonder,
If anything truly matters?
It is fall again;
Still she weeps at the altar
each Sunday morning.

— The End —