I still feel your hand on my head
Every short, sweet carress
I still feel your head on my hip
Your slight breath as you rest

I recall your timid voice
Barely competing with background noise
As gently you tread with words
Little troubles that have burdened
Your head, your life, your love

I relive relics of reality
Rational efforts subsiding slowly
Doomed to distortion
For when memory is involved I am weak
To sentiments so meek

This sweet torture
Not only of falling and hurting
That was only an overture
But also the aftermath

Of sadness and wrath
Unable to be content of unrequited
Feelings forsaken

Anxiety awakens
Overpowering any means to subdue
Even happiness that is due
From the ups and downs of the rolling wheel
Making me wonder if I ever will
Pass this mess
With any finesse

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