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The scent of aftershave, a lingering trace,  Hangs in the air, a whisper of your grace.  Doodles on napkins, abstract and light,  Fragments of thoughts that adorn the night.Cigarette butts, discarded and frayed,  Echoes of conversations that softly decayed.  Coffee stains linger, rings in the wood,  Marking the moments we both understood.Memories weave through the spaces we knew,  In ink, in smoke, in the warmth of brewed hue.  Each piece a reminder,...

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R Vyas

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