The flotsam of old love
washed upon the shores
of my heart. Strange,
that memories do not drown
after all the years they
sit there in the water
of my memory, my soul.
Some reason comes,
I suppose, to distract,
and I touch the something
that sends chills.
It must be some part of me
that is now his.
To reclaim, or let sit there?
I work near.
I live near.
He doesn't even know.
Unbound by the light years
between any two hearts.
Closer than I shall ever tell.
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