I miss the shadow of your hand,
The echo of your voice across the land.
Yet I walk alone, steadfast and true,
For I know the path does not lead to you.
I ache for what we cannot reclaim,
A quiet flame with no one to name.
The heart remembers, the mind forbids,
A tender wound that never lids.
I reach for ghosts in the still of night,
Knowing well I must not ignite.
Longing lingers, soft and deep,
A secret I carry, mine to keep.
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