Famished

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He stopped reading when
she stopped writing
Her letters grew emaciated,
famished with longing

her stanzas grew poorer
thinking of life without him
He would ask her to write stories
embroidering life with whim

She would pant and write
close her eyes for a while
imagining him hold the paper close,
like he'd hold her and smile

but a garden of imagination
needs to be watered with care
with modern interventions,
was there time to spare?

they say the distance
makes the hearts grow fonder
but long distances
makes relationships wander

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