I made magic in your eyes, a real regret to hold because you loved me, and I let you. I was practicing myself in the fallthrough. Then the let go, you saw. You witnessed just to fall victim, the view from inside me, and we shoved more than we fucked. Yes, I can’t receive; I’m more ashamed than I am lovely or lonely. And I guess that’s why only now can I remember how you felt. Really that’s all. I’m just longing to be in view. To write the story, I said I would write even though it’s over.