It's almost ten years now, and as I sit in my one room apartment I try to recall if those images actually took place. It all seems to unreal to me now. As I quickly glance at my reflection on the window, I see my forty year old face-- a few wrinkles, a three day beard, and my eyes; they look like hers, as though I was staring at her ten years ago.
I ponder whether that is a sign or not. I even wonder if I would be that strong to deal with it now? I don't want to think much about it, though, as I smoke my last cigarette. Actually, I don't see much of anything while I get ready to go to the store to get more smokes. I don't hear the sparrows chirping or their wings fluttering in the distance. I don't see them approaching my window... maybe I don't want to see them.
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