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Jul 27
I'm calling her name,
even though I've run out of things to say.
But because the clock is ticking,
I do not want this conversation to end.

If my words bear insignificance,
then I shall in patient silence, listen.
But I may never relive, re-love;
So tonight, let not her voice fade.
My silence is poetry. Hers is an assassin.
Written by
chitragupta  24/M/India
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