Why aren’t you gone, when you never were really here.
Why do you plague me, remembering rare moments when we were in love.
The inbetween a fog, blurred by undesirable thoughts of why, what more could I have done, or spoke to you after saying I love you.
I thought those words encompassed all; what more required to keep your heart to mine?
I will never know and live with morbid disappointment.
***
The Bag Lady 
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