All this I do to illicit a response, any response. Should you tell me that you can never see us going out again, that I am far too old…or whatever. It would be infinitely better. Instead there is no response. I do not move you too say… anything. And in this absence I continue with hope; and this small pilot light of hope keeps my soul ever burning. Certainly, while my time is otherwise occupied, I can pretend to forget you. To believe that I have gotten you out of my system, but all it takes is a simple glimpse of you on the internet and the fire all but blooms into a raging inferno. I realise that it makes no sense.
