This had nothing to do with writing, or fantasy, it was just on my mind:


He lay down to bed, alone
the night quiet, and cold
she had been there so long
every night, without fail

their first night was magic
his face touching hers
he knew then, in the dark
he would pursue no other

their hearts full of love
so many nights ahead
for them both together
little else seemed to matter

not tonight. She had gone
night three hundred ten
one more seemed too much
why must he bear it

his heart should stop beating
but stubbornly kept on
beating alone, for one more night



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