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Mar 2013
Dearest.

I had spilt my coffee
on your working table.

The manuscript that you were finishing
flinched, yelled, bled painfully
then stared at me accusingly

doubting your existence which is
gracefully drowning in the fatal glow
of left-overs and world dropping dead.

Perhaps, after a long time,
your heart will take its beat tonight.
Lacus Crystalthorn
Written by
Lacus Crystalthorn
626
   Oh Henry cried she and Andrea
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