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Did you really love her?
Or were you waiting, time passing
until you could escape, until something ‘better’ came along.
You broke her heart you know.
You never saw her crying,
never saw her sitting by the window gazing out into the street
wondering if there was anyone out there that she could be herself with.
Waiting for you to come back seemed logical, probable
and easier than admitting that you tore her to pieces.
Tracks of tears down her cheeks, unbrushed hair,
unwashed dishes in the sink.
Living with a blanket on her shoulders, as if it would help
to heal the hurt.
He’ll come back don’t worry,
He’ll come back.
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