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Leave

I stop and laugh at the irony of life. I have the feeling of absence as realise I cannot hear the “patter” of my tears hitting the cold floor. I obscurely glance down and see your cupped hands holding the puddle of my tears. I viscously turn away. I ask you only one thing. Leave. You cannot shakily and humbly ¬†catch my tears, when you are the one creating them.

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