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reflections of the past. |
| I once dared touch passion as it spoke its name to me. Two souls who met by chance neither meant to be there. The dance grew in tempo; distance shrunk by flame. Time apart, hurried and shared by standing in its rain. Then life threw it a twist. Fear can kill passion you know. It drowned over the Atlantic (nothing floats forever). Now I sit in the dark picturing it in my mind. Wondering just how many times passion walks through the door. |