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Writer's pictureKathia Marie

Things She Wrote

“Does this mean you’re going to write about me?”

Such a foolish thing to ask.

As if you hadn’t been my muse for the last few months we spent together

In a lovely, blissful world that only you and I understood.

As if you thought that all I wrote was heartache and pain and not the love

We shared like a secret treehouse built for two.

I thought, at least, Isaac knew better,

If not you.

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