It is not through the voice of a child
who adores you that I speak to you,
it is not through the rose tinted glasses
of green love that I see you,
it is not with a foolish mind that I
It is from a tired, wearied heart that
I long for you, for so long now that
soon it shall mean naught…
It is from loneliness that I cry, my
love has not died, but my solitude has
grown. Oh how I miss you.
It is love and it is not, I love the thought
of you, but it is not you with whom I
am in love.
It just is and is not.