alone, i lay in the darkened, damp cellar.
i know not why you’ve left me here.
i should be loved and warm and shielding my eyes from the sun.
quiet and cold-hearted, it is you who has made me so.
i bother with no one: a hermit.
yet i long to hear a whisper from your lips.
and though my heart may feel a hatred for your leaving,
i sometimes find the hope you gave me long ago.
however, i fear, more than your forever emptiness, that hope is long since dead.
more than life itself – i want to be loved again.
but my greatest hope has flown too high.