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So I’m 25 now and just writing it all down. Enjoy the ride.
You wrote to me today.
After months of silence...
I met him when I was twelve years old.
He wrote beautiful poems...
I tried reaching out to you,
All I was able to grasp was a stiff dial tone...
You used to hate my laugh.
So I stopped laughing...
I’m trying to be pretty.
Comb my hair...
I get awefully sad, knowing your poems are not about me.
Can you see me? All of me? Probably not, no one ever really has.
How long has it been since someone touched a part of you other than your body?
by - Mr. Darcy