He sat by the window,
He knew that he would never see her,
Or, at least, she him,
So he just sat there,
Content enough, if loving yet not loved is content,
To see her.
Lips a fine crimson, natural,
Hair a black midnight hue, deep and mesmerizing,
And her laugh, childish, pure.
He sighed contently,
Knowing before the heavens would take him,
He knew she could live happy...
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