The Soul of the Lover Separated by Distance is not unlike a Phoenix grown ashen by the snow,
Devoid of its' heavenly power and constantly threatening to grow.
It will seek for someone to devour, in order to achieve, at worst, a state of remembrance, at best, resemblance.
One thing is for certain;
As surely as the evening light, fragile and futile, bends it's way into the sectioned off window, the absence of love is an abyss.
And when that abyss is occupied the best one can do is wait for the familiar cannon fodder of feelings which will signify a start of the slaughter in the heart...