Yield to the Foolish Tides of the Heart If truth must be told— and oh, how cruel truth can be— then let it rise like an untamed tide, drowning the years in waves of longing. For time has never dulled the edges of this ache, nor softened the weight of what was lost. I drift, night after night, into the past, where golden moments still shimmer, untarnished, where your laughter lingers like a melody unfinished. Memories do not ask permission; they flood the quiet hours, unbidden, arriving with the hush before dawn, between the wreckage of reality and the dream of what could have been. If only… if only… We…