There are days where I second-guess this romance.
And ask, “is this true love, or just my imagination?”
Then thinking about my thinking I stop mid-thought, and
Berate myself for this blasphemous contemplation.
But do not fault me for thinking twice about us.
Because when it comes to you, believe me, I am serious.
More than just summer, autumn, winter and spring,
You are, my dear, my everything.
Donn, fragments 
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