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There have not been a single day in the last 365 that has not been spent in remembering you.

Why, I ask?

What is the point of remembering someone who must have forgotten you after the sun set that day.

Yet, 365 days later, there is still poetry flowing for someone, the pictures unfaded, the memories bright, the conversations still left where they were.

Unfinished, unrequited, without a closure.


words for the day

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