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Unfinished Conversations
It’s late at night,
On the final day,
Of January,
Which already seemed like a year.
We have sneaked,
Out on the terrace,
With our jackets,
And a cup of chai,
Staring at the moon,
Setting over the hill.
When you tell me,
My vice,
Holding on.
But, tell me,
How do I let go,
Of conversations,
You’ve left unfinished,
Asking me to wait,
As you find the right words,
To break my heart.
