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Loved
April 18, 2017
I loved him.
It wasn’t the sort of love they wrote novels about,
the kind that glows,
but the quiet kind.
The kind too soft for love songs,
but reserved for endless love poems,
hidden behind shy smiles
and forbidden glances.
Symphonies,
the kind that played long after curtains were drawn,
long after his feet had left the stage.
It was the kind of love I hid behind concern,
hoping that one day,
he might fall in return.
© Anonymous
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