I close my eyes at night to stories that end easier than wiping tears away. It’s all that I can do to keep the thoughts of you at bay. They fill my bed, try to penetrate my mind. I won’t let you in. It’s still better than watching every star go out at night and, one-by-one, wondering if each one is yours. I’ll dig my hand deep into my pocket and toss a last coin to this wish that that you won’t ever hear, that you aren’t ever near. So long, so sick, this wishing well is on my side and I won’t need good luck because I won’t be around. Wishing well, wish us well. All we’re left with are bleeding hearts to match bleeding eyes from sharing our loss and longing for more.
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