You’re only a glimpse of the days I could feel. And I can still imagine the feelings. The sweet thunder of agitation and longing; the desire, forbidden..

Gazing, wishing, waiting.. hopeful that perhaps it’s all an illusion; perhaps it will pass, unnamed and undiscovered. And every once in a while burning to have, or to forget..

And if you’ll never touch, or kiss, or own.. why bother waking the fondness? Oh, let it sleep in its silky covers and pretend it has passed, pretend it was nothing more than a childhood fever. And forget… If only until another dream, another recollection that you once knew how to feel..

Closure, he says.. how funny!