Remains
She’s gone.
Perhaps remembered
through a lens
sepia toned or rainbow hued
What remains with no lens
full of shadows and echoes
In a chamber of her own making
She calls to the past
and hears only the echoes
Fleeting glimpses of
might have been.
Strangling the was.
Escaping the is.
Fearing the will be.
Each new
remains the same
filed away for reference only
never to be re-read.
The volumes grow thin
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