Tuesday, February 1, 2011


It's not been a year yet. I dream about you all the time. sentance, type, backspace, enter.
It's not been a year yet. I try not to see your faces everywhere.
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This isn't poetry, you'd have told me so. You'd have said something smartass about it it. I would have laughed.
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You'd have pointed out the typos, the grammar errors, the misspelled words.
"Did you know you spelled sentence two different ways?"
You wouldn't have known which was right without referring yourself to a dictionary.
I'd have told you so.
You'd have asked me, "Well, why didn't you look it up yourself?"
So, see?
You're not gone. Not really.
Not yet.
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I can't remember your face as well as I remember his.
I didn't see either one after you'd both died.
Closed casket...cremation.
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It's not been a year yet. I think about you all the time.
Backspace... backspace... backspace.

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