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Apr 2011
In the crisp morning air I breath deep and stand at the bridge looking out to the sea.
The rocks will never mean the same thing and the sand will never again belong to me.
Light from the sun rises but it will never be like the dawn before.
No one is here but me and the wind seeps through my jacket and into my bones.
I remember when I sat waiting for her to awake and the times we all sat and waited for nothing,
but now I wait for the past as the future brings me the present.
Yet, nothing can compare to what has already been shared and because of that I sit and think of how I long for yesterday.
Written by
Gunnar Fitzgerald
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