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What is it about this leftover love that never seems to be done? The Sun succumbs to the darkness each evening but this leftover love for you refuses to? Why do I have a part of you in me? And, why do I feel you have a piece of my heart with you? Why do all the lines of my poetry lead back to you? Why, when I cry a river, it flows towards you ? Can you tell me when will the leftover love for you be done? Because, this hurts like hell knowing I cannot have...
