An ache in your soul.

The ideal boy, in London from France, came over and left me. He left me entranced. Now I have to get by once again on my own. Nothing but... memories. See, I remember your eyes in their dark shade of brown, while these brown eyes of mine, they stay closed. I kissed you goodbye on the M-109, I choked as I watched the bus go. Choking and smoking to your angelic soul, choking and smoking myself into a hole, where the only way out is to sleep and to dream, and to cry out your name.