To review these works would bring it all back. Feeling the ominous stare from the book, you are forced to peek at it's treasures. Clearing the dust with doubting fingers, a teardrop forms in your eye. A petal from your first-received rose crumbles to dust when exposed to the air. You never will find another like me.
First love is always the most special, and the hardest to break.
It's a shame the way things turn out. I still mean every word. It's getting cold out there. Time slips away. Hours to days, days to weeks.