Dated Last November
First winter gust,
with a ripped out soul,
sewed with the string
of stars, I held.
.
The yellow hue,
of this room, reminding
me of the lost love,
I kept dearly.
.
The unfinished book,
of my heart and yours,
deceiving us to believe
in something not there.
.
Leaving and loving,
still, the same,
cherishing forever,
like a thought.
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