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i stopped by our favourite spot with my coffee and my scars your beloved Sylvia Plath poetry the hidden flowers in the book the breeze playing with my hair kissing my lips drying the tears that fall the soft yearning, slightly forgotten like beautiful memories lost in faded Polaroids my autumn is here desperately longing for you with tears like icicles freezing my lips, pulling my hair flowers long dead and a dissected poem healed scars and coffee turned cold our secret forgotten, like us.
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