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An overhead conversation where your name is mentinoned; a letter in my hand i try desperately to read before i wake. A styrofoam coffee cup an half-read book on an empty table where i knew you were just minutes before.
It's as though my dreams are a mirror of my waking world like finding myself walking down the street where i could have sworn i caught a glimpse of you, only to look again and realize it wasn't you after all.