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All I could think about was her grin.
A passing thought of her smile — a trigger,
And so we begin:

How tenderly I dream upon your face,
As I study the nuances every idiosyncrasy seems to infiltrate.

Mine own Pensieve.

Reading you — seeing you — is like leering into every shard of shattered glass.
Each mirror a replica of the other,
But never cut the same.

You’re a queen in the window;

I witness nothing but your icon and the humble horizon that shadows you,
A treacherous allure.
And I dare to admire its limitless contents.

Her essence emits a light so bright it blinds —
And yet, I can’t help but see the world in you.

All of these things,
for the sake of a smile no longer mine.

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