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Hanna Mae Mata Nov 2015
There is no such thing
as a bad writer,
just one who isn't sad
- not sad enough.
You
Hanna Mae Mata Jan 2016
You
In the stillness of a photograph,
I found life, moving in light speed,
Shooting the very nerve that bears
Every bit of sense that there is in me.
It has always been
the pigments of your photograph,
That touches the sky before the sun,
The shore before the sea,
The pages before the words,
And my heart before me.
Hanna Mae Mata Nov 2015
There is no distance
like the space that there is
between me and
this old photograph
resting on the
the most immediate side
of my bed.
What should I give to be able to trace the lines on your face again?

— The End —