How can I feel love if there was none there yet to feel.
Or sadness if there is no source.
The loss of what could have been, or might have been,
or in my head perhaps had hoped should have been.
Your face your eyes are fading as I speak,
the memory of might have been's already faint.
How strange our we that plan are lives so completely,
only to have such illusions broken, gone as quickly as they formed.
But such is love, within it life is left unbridled and such transgressions are what lift us.
So here's to could have been's, and might have been's,
and 'in my head perhaps had hoped should have been's'
And though your face so faint seems to me at least to smile,
knowing love no matter how short or brief should be enjoyed whilst it still beguiles
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