Dormant now, that longing ache.
Boarded up by panes of polished wood.
No sooner had you stepped inside,
Than all those months were buried where I stood.
I feel like I should love you more,
Be grateful that, for now, you’re staying put.
Back and forth, you come and go--
Never gone, but never home for good.

So am I wrong to just forget?
To feel as though you never left the room?
It’s pitiful, in retrospect,
My era of relentless lonesome gloom.
And now you’re here, the pain is gone,
No need for passion, yearning-- Life resumes.
And yet I know, another age
of solitude in less than two years looms.

Am I wrong to board her up?
That child with her heart upon her sleeve.
Dormant now, that weaker me,
Waiting in the wings for you to leave.

The End

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