Where most find sleep,
I find the memories
That I can't keep
In my mind by day,
They would drive me insane.
They plague me
As I try and slumber.
Of the memories,
There is no number.
The memories are of
Comforts unending,
Of conversations
Without beginnings.
To lie there next to you,
And know that everything
In my heart is real,
Is a dream made true.
Even in such fleeting moments,
Can I know true peace.
Lying in your arms,
Is such a relief.
But here I am alone,
Walking though this empty home,
Echoes of silence abound,
And all I wear is this frown.
Lying here trying for slumber,
And its no wonder,
That my thoughts are of you,
And the memories begin anew.
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