paramour

while she dresses I understand an inexpressible grief. I accept that she is wearing her clothes of mourning. unable to quell the despairing fears that arise at some unexpected hour, I could not locate a convincing shield - "how long must I wait?" I begin to wonder in an immobile state, and "will my solitude be gone?" - never, then, "there will be findings of vast calmness", I would finally think, in disbelief.