Pain is emptiness
My soul wracked in agony
Thoughts of you
Still cloistered in my head.

My heart does not hate,
It yearns,
It aches,
It breaks.

Just wanting to cry
Let lose a torrent of tears
Not a drop is shed,
In what feels like a million years.

The minutes turn to days
Days to weeks
Weeks to months
And yet I still yearn.

My heart is scarred,
My chest beats hollow,
Tender from simple emotions,
My essence stripped bare.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Aequitas, in the year 437 AD.