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Pluviophile

Poetry

It was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51

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[48] - White

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by introvertt

by introvertt

[48] – White

“I heard nothing

But her worried cry.

I saw nothing

But white.

And for that moment

I felt like I was gone.”