Sometimes, it still hurts me. A comment passes unnoticed, until I stop. Think. I run and hide, it's better that way. Instead of examining evidence everywhere I turn. A separation, enforced by both, helped by lives so full we don't have time to meet, even when we want to. I want to weep, to grieve for the loss of him. I want to put it in the ground, and hold the wake of a dead love. Pink Roses, Lillies and Daffodils adorn my chamber, waiting, watching, yearning for the sun to light their silken petals. He was never mine as he is hers. I never made the running. He never loved me, but consumed by lust he came. I loved his kindness, his beauty, his reasons for every little thing, his acknowledgement of when those reasons were nonsense. I loved his intelligence, his wit and his weakness, but he was staring at her the entire time.