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Today I heard stories of lost love, of hidden pain and misplaced affections.

A man who lost his loved one, his beloved wife. He never got to say goodbye. A simple ‘I’ll see you soon’ was just not there. And all his life, he wonders of infinite what-ifs and could-haves. He loves her, even til this very day.

A woman told stories about her early years with the one she’s married to now. She’s happy. I could tell by the way her eyes kindle when she speaks of him. And that was enough to know that she is still as happy as she was back then.

A friend of mine told a story about her passed grandpa. He would always spend the first few minutes of his days talking with the person sleeping next to him; his dear, treasured love. My friend’s mom would hear them chatter away and she could tell that they were smiling from the back of her door.

A father showed me his notes on his cellphone. One of them was his password to his account I-do-not-know-which; it spelled his daughter’s first name.
You were like breadcrumbs
left unpurposely by my digestion during breakfast

You stayed on the kitchen table 'til noon,
'til Mama swiped away the remaining crumbs,
and
I have lunch
with another dish--a different meal.

Something else, but not
you.
They were two lines alike
in resonance at first
sight
but crumbles
trumbles
and vanishes
to
what-ifs and could-haves
of lost goodbyes and almost
hellos
a distant star in her eyes
longing for a galaxy in his
she was a box of
cigarettes, waiting to be lit
but would soon run out

of light, of time,
and of you
Y o u
are the lorem to my
ipsum.
Rekha Nur Alisha Nov 2018
She was that Chekhovian girl
who fell for Dostoevsky
and Camus and Sartre
and
   you.
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