Never felt so complete
I never known a love so sweet
Til You
Gave my heart a home

Tell me that someday you’ll be returning
And maybe
Maybe I’ll believe
It’s just enough to see a shooting star
To know you’re never really far
It’s just enough to see a shooting star
To know you’re never really gone

Please don’t go
Let me have you just one moment more
All I need
All I want is just one moment more

How can I hope that this will not happen to my memory?  That it is not happening already?  Slowly, quietly, like snowflakes “like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night”  little flakes of me, my impressions, my selections, are settling down on the image of her.  The real shape will be quite hidden in the end.  Ten minutes “ten seconds” of the real would correct all this.  And yet, even if those ten seconds were allowed me, one second later the little flakes would begin to fall again.  The rough, sharp, cleansing tang of her otherness is gone.