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T L Taylor

Eyes, they see me, but she does not;

there is one who does,

yet it is the other who should.

For it is her I see.

At some distant time, I saw the latter.

The trails and tribulations

of time, of life, of love

have since blinded me.

For years I wandered

through the darkness,

though not alone—

for we all, at some point

are engulfed by the abyss—

then a miracle happens,

and I can see again.

The darkness has lifted

but there is still a mist,

a haziness of uncertainty;

the knowledge that

though her eyes see me,

she does not.

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