Can you taste my tears in the echoes of our time? I’m closing the curtains now, on all my thoughts of you. What must be done to move beyond you. That’s not to say it doesn’t hurt me. For how I have known you — for all the ways which you have seen me, have also known me. To accept that what was can be nothing other than what it is: the sorrow of inearthing your hope. Oh what a fine shrine I have built for you, here. It will be nearly impossible to forget you.