Distance makes hearts fodder,
And we pretend closeness.
You fill your gaps,
And I fill mine.
Your days are my nights,
And my nights are a daze.
Our electric means play childish games
As I mind the seen.

Life, a friend tells me, renews itself over and over again. An aspect of our being seems to die, and we grasp for its memory as it falls.
Sorrow hides growth.