She isn’t a dream
In memories I can see her
sitting there in the windows
of future houses
I can hear her singing
In my ears, by my face
I can feel the cuts
the bruises
from tomorrows without her
She isn’t allowed to be photo-ed
lost in words and sentiments
She writes still (to be remembered)
in the corners of my work
She invited the enemies in
She refuses not to exist
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