I wrote a poem the other night, I wrote it thinking of you, I realized you would find it out, when I read it out to you, so I tore away the paper and threw it away, I did not want you to know about my inspiration, I think it made more sense that way, creation and its inspiration is better kept apart, without they knowing each other, and thus the world lost a poetry that night, and to make up for that I chose to write this one, for I had to tell the world, and more importantly to you, that my poetry was lost that night but not my thoughts for you,

If you could read your own mind, my dear, like the way I read mine, you would know how true it was,
and you would find the lost poetry too…

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