A thousand times in solitude, I wrestle. I must not think of you. But here inevitably, you do --- invade and fill in all the missing spaces, the times you are not with.

Witholding emotions --- only stir and recycle my affections. Consult the wise old owl can who tell where the roads of fate will bring us. We appreciate when the sun warms our lives and the moon kisses us good night, over and again. Counting 365 days to declare it is a year and another year will pass by.