February 6th, The First Day After April.
The romance is dead.
The tender love which once nurtured and gently caressed my heart is now gone,
A mere memory
Distant from the pain and hardship now wretched in my soul.
Nostalgia suffocates me.
But I must look upon this not with dismay,
For I know that somewhere, at some point,
When the time is right
And I release my fragile heart
Into the depth of the unknown shadow,
It will be captured.
And it could be true; it WILL be true
Just not with you.