I've nothing more
with which to make you fall in love. no things attached to memories no words to make you laugh I have given all there is and it is tucked away boxed and forgotten and you will not read it again from the sublime season of our meeting no souvenirs are left to give now withered and displaced squeezed tight for all there was - a voice over the line a troubled, troubling soul running over recollections of the happiest I'd been hoping you were too - is all I am so little in my life, worth memory what rare occurrences of joy I see the beauty in these, fleeting, stays for me but only me.
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