sitting here and all I think of
is for you to hold my hand
knowing we're not meant to happen
yet hoping for it anyway
and all the time fully aware
this thing will end in tears
perhaps a fool, perhaps a fool
a fool such one as I
one who is forced ever to observe
his thoughts drifting t'wards you
thinking about how it will never be
wishing for time to stand still
the two of us wrapped in our blanket
like the world covered in snow
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