And I look at the blank space,
Where your photograph used to be,
Oh no, I didn’t burn it,
Neither did I tear it asunder.
Why would I?
That shard of colorful inks,
A familiar face,
A mere piece of paper,
Or my whole heart.
I used to run my fingers,
Over those angelic eyes of ink,
Over your hair,
Over that fierce yet peaceful face,
So where did it go?
Did my eyes become it.
Did my heart skip a beat,
Or did you just fade,
Or did you just fade..?

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