August, 1975.  Pasadena, California.

I thought once, we'd grow together, make babies, grand-babies.
Assured of our love for each other rooted in trust, honor, and 
loving friendship would surely overcome any adversities.
But time and distance has been both cruel and impatient.
I cannot pretend the embers of you do not still smolder in what's left of my heart.
The most painful thing I'd ever resigned myself to was the thought of never kissing
your sweet face again, nor to gaze into your eyes, nor hearing your joyful laughter
echo about me from different rooms.
Another woman came into my life and told me my old love had all but destroyed 
the man inside this empty shell of me. I could not answer her question.
"Who do you see, when you make love to me?"
Why does it still cut me so deeply?
Why so many tormented and pain-filled nights lost?
If I had one more chance with which I could win your love for always, or die trying, 
I'd gladly take it.
I'd die happily in your arms.