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The story of the lost love.

Submitted:Feb 28, 2013    Reads: 17    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


The Last Adieu

Being with you means happiness. Was.

It was a breathtaking voyage, the treasured, cherished remembrance.

In anticipation of the very last adieu, I have suffered defenseless.

Really, a definition of melancholy was unbearable.

Every so often, I'm letting my imagination run riot.

Make them floating in the air, running after for the shadow of yours.

Again, I deteriorate with loathing and revulsion of my foolishness.

Why do I have to mortify myself? Why can I let you depart?

The lingering misery over the lost love has finally become outrageous.

Sleeping was no longer consoling and waking up was a supreme gloominess.

The universe has becoming a dim place, chock-full with repeated blankness.

The sun was losing the warmness and the moon was losing the exquisiteness.

The world had always been a more comfortable place for me.

Now it's a heartbreaking verve with never ending despair.

If I were able to touch him, I would love to do that; for the very last time.

Then I would not take hold of him any longer.


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