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WRITE, IF THOU MUST : I, linger within the intervals of thy breath. Where once I dissolved? Or even where once I took root. Beneath the tender radiance of thine eyes. Never hath my soul wholly departed.
It remains suspended somewhere between remembrance and desire,
haunting the quiet chambers of what I dare not name. I cannot help but wonder whether thy countenance, ( Should it find mine again? ) Would awaken that unfinished tenderness—that ancient affection which neither distance nor passing seasons
have succeeded in bringing to an end. And shouldst encounter me then, wouldst thou behold how I falter before thee, still pleading for one fragment of mercy from the reverie that wrapped itself around me like a sin. I have willingly carried?
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