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Was/Can’t/Is … True MAG
You promised you would take me to that movie on Friday,
 And help me move into my dorm,
 And interview the boy I bring home for Thanksgiving, 
 And be right by my side for my wedding,
 You told me it was gone; that you were going to be fine.
 But now I'm collapsed in this waiting room,
 Holding my breath every time a white coat patters by.
 Fingers crossed and knuckles white,
 A crater erupts in my stomach
 As the white coat approaches.  
 My mind races and desperation strikes.
 A dark abyss clouds my once hopeful vision.
 He opens his mouth, 
 And my cheeks wet with salty tears.
 The staccato words pierce the air.
 I see his lips moving, 
 But I hear nothing. 
 I inhale deeply, 
 But am left breathless.
 It can't be true.

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