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The Fault In Our Stars
We’d been doing this since a long time,
Me, writing poems,
You, listening,
Under the blanket of stars,
Each night,
Like a ritual.
What has changed today is,
Either the stars are dimmer,
Or the poems sadder,
Or the fact that,
You started writing,
Me, listening.
Each night,
Like a ritual.
Wondering what changed us,
The nights,
The poems,
Or the stars.
Either yours,
Or mine.
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