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Jun 2014
I think of what could have been.
The earth we walked upon,
and the flowers that should have grown,
but withered away.

I think of what should have been.
The nights you laid in my arms
and the words we could have spoke,
but chose not to.

I think of you.
I love you.
Or at least,
I think I do.
Isaac Bahn
Written by
Isaac Bahn
293
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