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Missing

Some people come into your life and leaves a mark, like a ring on my right hand’s index finger. It left a mark which I can never fill. It’s there but it isn’t. Like that feeling, I have for you which is there but still missing. Leaves leaving the tree and never sticking. You are a torn paper by a little kid who wants to make an aeroplane of it. He who couldn’t make it by himself will give it to an oldster. The smile of him will somehow light everybody world. The dancing legs would then will forget the pain in them as his laugh would make a melody his loved one couldn’t resist. You are that feeling that is but isn’t.

By Ray

POET| CONTENT WRITER| BLOGGER

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