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A hundred thousand light years or a meter

Are equidistant where the heart's concerned:

Both time and space serve only to make sweeter

That force from which the heart cannot be turned.



I say "cannot," for surely I endeavored

On Gol to purge from me emotion's stirring.

Yet each time I believed the bond was severed

Those thoughts of you, cruel thieves, just kept recurring.



They stole from me my calm--hard won composure--

Robbed logic, certainty, and Vulcan reason;

Left nothing in their place but raw exposure

Of wounds that should have long since passed their season.



Light years, miles, and meters became the same

The instant that my heart called out your name.
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