and left it by her windowsill
so no matter what day
might come she would
always remember him
Crumpled paper sits
by
her short black hair,
one hand beneath and
one around
and though the tears won’t come
her days go down beside the sun,
leaving the light of dusk to fill her
house with scent of
love that’s passing by
Those written words
she said
have ripped my heart,
“You are not afraid of love,
you are afraid of not getting
loved back.”
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