If
I follow you through the door will I walk back into the lost past?
Will I be able to tear up my speeches and actions to live a second
life - written by me rather than by circumstances? Or is this cafe
too comfortable?
I
will tear up this sad sonnet that I have begun . .
During
the loneliest hour of the dark night,
When
time stands still and my memory fails,
I
lose my life . . . . .
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