I, To You, Am Lost In The

Every Day Is Precious And I Feel Infinitely Sad At This Time Melting Away From Me.

There Is A Certain Unique And Strange Delight About Walking Down An Empty Street Alone.

But Writing Poems And Letters Doesn't Seem To Do Much Good.

The Silence Depressed Me. It Wasn't The Silence Of Silence. It Was My Own Silence.

You Are A Dream; I Hope I Never Meet You.