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Jun 2015
“And then, you’d break his heart.’
‘I can’t ever think I could do that. I couldn’t break anyone’s heart.’

You look at me. The tempting colour of your eyes dilates into grey. A blank moment; a break in the cinematography.

At night, I can’t sleep because your smell lingers on me like cheap perfume.
What do I do, what do I do?
Old prose from old memories.
Vamika Sinha
Written by
Vamika Sinha  Botswana
(Botswana)   
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