She

I laugh with her in my dreams,

straining my eyes in morning light,

searching for her silhouette against the suns early rays.

I am reminded by the pain in my chest,

when the first breath of cold morning air hits my lungs,

that I am alone.

Lost and forgotten like so many others she has tossed to the wind.

I wonder if she dreams of me too.

Yet I know I have been replaced,

A missing brick in her foundation that held no unique value.

She has moved on,

her memory lives on only in the confines of my brain.

My mind,

the only masochistic author I know,

addicted to it’s own pain,

infatuated with scripting tragedies.

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