Sometimes, in the quiet moments,
I relapse and think of you.
Where, I wonder, does the bitterness go
when those rare moments hold me fast?
And I swear I could still love you—
do still love you—
even between the quiet moments.

And the bitterness is but a shield
against too much time spent alone;
a shield against your memory
that pains far too deeply.
And sometimes it’s even bearable
to realize that I will never
see you, touch you, or hold you again—
except in the quiet moments.