Would there be room in your heart for a grief that found relief in my absence? Would you be at peace, love? I wish you no pain when I depart. Yet, I am selfish in ways I can't fathom or express. Needy in ways the Jacobin cuckoo quenches its thirst with the downpour. //caption// Secret song. Would you think of me when the light of the morning refuses to enter your room? Would you smell the rays of orange afternoons when they fall on your empty arms? Would there be room in your heart for a grief that found relief in my absence? Would you be at peace, love?
