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Broken Sonnets for a Departed Lover - II

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Standing on the bus, I finding myself weeping Without control. Solicitous old ladies, leaping Shakily to their feet, offer me their seats, Along with tissues and mints, as the streets   Blur past through rain smeared windows. I feel like one of those scary weirdos I used to edge away from, despising their Twitching features and unkempt hair.   I dab at my eyes, despising my overt

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