AFTER

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I thought I would die of aching heart,

of hollowness inside, of sorrows

that inhibited my heart

and wouldn’t

go away.

 

I thought I would die of pain,

of longing, of loneliness of

thousand little memories

that I visited

day after day.

 

I thought I would die of despair,

the despair of knowing love,

of drag on my heart, of drag

of long

grieving days.

 

and then I waited and waited

and the days came

and went and I went on living

and when I saw him again,

he was no more to me

than a little dust

in the attic where I had

kept all my old toys  – Neena H. Brar

 

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