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Dec 2018
I am the poem you wrote on the back of your hand,
The ink that was washed away,
Flown into the drain.
I am the idea you hurriedly scribbled on a napkin in a coffee shop,
But forgot to take with you.
I am the tune you could never hum right,
The page that fell off the hinge of an old book,
Collecting dust.
Jing Xi Lau
Written by
Jing Xi Lau  26/F/Woodbridge, VA
(26/F/Woodbridge, VA)   
1.7k
   Fawn
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