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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A false memory of a love long past, or rather the delusions of a romantic who never had a girlfriend and so wrote poetry instead.

Submitted: October 08, 2016

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Submitted: October 08, 2016



It’s way too fucking cold. I try

To warm myself – my quilt is

Ineffectual, and so is my

coat. I try to get out of this

bed, to warm myself at the heater

But I’m scared of moving away

From the familiar comfort

Of my old and lumpy bed.


I think of those better

Times, when all was warm and

Bright as that summer day.

The day we picked the lilies

Feels so far away.

© Copyright 2017 Joshua Foakes. All rights reserved.

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