I am. Sad. For the memories. I have.
Of you. Even though I know. It was bad.
I still loved you. More than I ever had.
More than anyone I have.
But you're not mine. I'm not yours.
Though I know. Like seasons come. They go.
Ours is gone. Like Indian spring. Far too short.
Your summer was cruel. Your spring fallow. Untrue.
But your winter was beautiful.
I see angels in the snow. I miss you.
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