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clara stewart Jan 2017
I miss you.
I assume you must
Miss me too. Do you not?
I can’t help but measure
The miles your
Life has moved away from the beauty
Of our linked lives. By
Leaving, you covered the
Many merry memories, creating distance.
But I know that doesn’t mean nothing to you.
Because you are
Someone who tried to let me loose from
My lonely longing for death.
Golden Shovel poem using the last line of the poem "waist Size" by Beau Taplin.

— The End —