As I crumble


It might well be decades later, yet I do still fondly remember, for my old
memory has yet failed me, now found lying by the wayside of time, not
since having read with eagerness that one arising temperamental throbbing
memo: as I draw upon panting breaths, with emerging tears, and your most
deserving whispering voice, as if like asleep in a lost daydream of fleeing
moments where wandering images are like bright shadows that soften the
aching of my longing lost Sarah buried over this tampering heartbeat upon
the reviewing of this one memoir.

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Romance and its journey