It is a strange sort of pain
"to die of yearning for something you'll never experience"
Sunday, April 20, 2003
i've missed the smell of your room
i've missed the weak ray of sun coming into your room from that little window
i've missed the music
i've missed the colors
i've missed those hands hanging on the wall
i've missed the smell of cold water in the frig
and i've missed that bread i never ate
It is a strange sort of pain
"to die of yearning for something you'll never experience"
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