an absent heart can grow fonder but also may die
where once passions burned and love sprang anew
can wither and crumble, scattered like dust by a broom
one can chase the sunrise or flee the moon
delicately master the melody or blare out of tune
I have absolutely no clue what the hell I was thinking here. I dunno I just started typing I guess. I wonder where it would have went if I had finished it? Oh well who knows maybe one of these days I will figure it out
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