If I could conjure all of the time in this world, I would put it toward nothing more than to spend my life with you.
I fear for as so the Raven quoth nevermore, it shall be so the truth. And as such that may be the truth, conversely it may not hold true.
We are masters of our fate condemned to our very own of rendition of hell, the borders of our hearts and minds.
I long for the dream to be real, I long for the dream itself. That may very well be the most taunting of all.
I carry the burden of this affliction and there is none to understand, it bears down on me like the cold autumn rain. The winter passed by with her cold kiss and then she left without remorse.
I guess you have no idea what I would have done for you, it’s not you to blame, for I never made it known. It is the fault of my own, and which that I accept.
I know that which I seek, but it’s out of reach in this life, it seems only logical to then, accept defeat.
Hope is lost, shattered and scattered to the wind as if ashes of a loved one since gone.
Once again, I find myself at the precipice of hope and its cruel fate.
Maybe you can change that.