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Poetry
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| By timon | ||||||||
| 16 February 2007 | ||||||||
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All I can hear on the bedside table is the silent space where your watch no longer ticks. All I can smell surrounding me is the scent of you once so raw, now fading. All I can taste on my lips are those too late words unuttered choking me. All I can see is everything I gave you which wasn’t enough lying abandoned next to the deflated pillows which look almost warm and if I was to reach out and touch the indentation left could I still feel you?
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