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The Fault In Our Stars

We’d been doing this since a long time,

Me, writing poems,

You, listening,

Under the blanket of stars,

Each night,

Like a ritual.

What has changed today is,

Either the stars are dimmer,

Or the poems sadder,

Or the fact that,

You started writing,

Me, listening.

Each night,

Like a ritual.

Wondering what changed us,

The nights,

The poems,

Or the stars.

Either yours,

Or mine.

words for the day

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