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On the Shore

I have left behind
A house on the shore
In which a man will cry
Into the sheets on a bed
On which he used to sleep beside his beloved wife—
Me, Anna—
Who can do nothing now but watch from a distance.
Every morning I held his hand—
Stefan’s hand—
And we’d walk aimlessly on that shore
Breathing in the salty air,
Capturing the way the waves ceaselessly crawled to the shore,
Never stopping.
Tonight Stefan will sleep alone.
The kids aren’t home
They don’t know yet
That all that’s left of me
Are the perfumed sheets on my bed
Eternally graced with my scent.
As surely as the tides rise and fall,
I’ll watch over this house on the shore.





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