They were so white against the blue, With such a glory streaming through Their silver fleeces,--we were sure They must at least be angels’ wings; And the mere fancy of such things Kept childish speech and conduct pure.
Because losing someone isn't an occasion or an event. It doesn't just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time. Every time I'm kept in the dark. Every time I'm outcasted. Every time I have unanswered questions.