Sitting by the window side,
The moon is a brimming sight.
Doesn't it remind you, of anything;
Cause it does to me, more, than a single thing.

Regret:
That's what I get reminded of.

Not a memory with someone,
Yet a memory of someone.
Not a beloved, whom I fell in love with;
But someone, yet more than a beloved.

I wonder and wonder, till I no longer ponder,
The girl beneath the moon could finally utter:
Her thoughts and feelings, now downright mustered.

This might not be the crucial start,
But clearly; it isn't the idle end:
For the feelings are still not mustered,
Yet somehow downright mustered.