I wrote this for you





And so, I wait because you have already left and my work here, is done. I wait and wonder how my
skin feels like it?s made of love letters written a hundred years too soon (too late). I wonder at the
mystery of life and how much of it can possibly remain. I wonder at pain and hurt and love and time
and how much of each I held. I wonder at how I cannot remember anything in my life before I met
you. I wonder at the tiniest of touches and try, desperately, to keep their memories alive.
 I wonder at loneliness.  I wonder at how long it?ll be, before I see you again.
I wait. And I wonder.


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