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Strange, how I never saw you

For who you were

And you never saw me

For who I was.

But still.

Your elegant handwriting

Is imprinted in my mind.

Like leaves between the pages

Of a book that was left behind.

But still.

The sounds the keypad made

When I dialled your number

Ring as fresh and familiar

As the rhythm of my heart.

But still.

Your jibes, your taunts,

Your needs, your wants

Get drowned in the memory

Of your tinkling laughter.

Really.

Strange, how time can make

Hell seem beautiful

As if it were viewed through

Rose-tinted glasses.

 

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