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An early afternoon sunbeam
pierces my reverie,
crawls through the window
and cross the blond wood floor,
to find me wearing solitude,
a coffee cup,
and my father's red plaid shirt.

This place is loud with memory.

I miss those that cast these ghosts.

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( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
hrhqod1
Jan. 22nd, 2011 03:51 am (UTC)
"This place is loud with memory.

I miss those that cast these ghosts"

How very sad...lovely, but sad.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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