My Noon, My Midnight…

Why love comes, stays a while and diminishes is as mysterious as why it rains and more difficult to predict. When sensing the coming of a storm there is never certainty if a feeling is accurate. I sensed you were falling out of love with me and sadly, I was correct. T.J.

He was my North, my South,
my East and West,
My working week
and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight,
my talk, my song;
I thought that love
would last forever:
I was wrong.
English-American poet, Wystan Hugh

Time Heals...

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