together in this late afternoon
light
sipping
tea, her choice not mine,
i'd pick a stronger
brew to browse
these books
and pictures of someone
i once knew.
and her, she says, pointing,
her finger
resting on a pretty face
squared in black
and white. a name
beside it, a heart drawn
with an arrow too.
what became of that one?
she asks.
who knows, i say.
from what little i remember,
i suppose,
it just wasn't right.
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