Do you ever have that sense, one rooted in a deep ache,
A place of hurt and loneliness
That sense that you have lost something,
But are not quite sure what it is
Or was

You only know
That you don't have it
And, perhaps didn't know
In the having
What it was you had

When the cry
Is answered by silence
And no one
Who you are

And if they do
It is in passing
And you miss them too?


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