She loved with a boldness that was invented only by her.
He remembered it, in a whisper from another
Or the flick of auborn hair
A voice, like hers, but not.
He would turn and again be disappointed to find
She was not there.
For love is so rare, that in a beat it is everlasting
A womans hand is poised, placed downward
He knew it wasnt hers
For hers was always open
Waiting for another.
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