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When I think of you, I think of me.  I wish that you could finally see  The way things can now, for us, be.
It had been ten monthsTen months of just seeing his handwritingSmall and squished but very exactHe always wrote in penDark, permanent embodiment of himselfIt was easy for me to create his personage in my head
Down her face streamed the tears, Of 20 years. Of 1,043 weeks, Of feeling weak. Of 7,304 days, Of being in a daze. Of 175,316 hours, Of thinking, how are We supposed to go on from here?
To a long lost Lover: I've lived a wooden life for longer than I can remember, Creaking, cracking, losing leaves and making more. It's beginning to look like December, I hope to see you in Spring or before.  
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