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 Lanky l’s, thin t’s
on scented stationery
illegible script

sweet love scribbles like
chicken claw scratches on soil
he’s now a surgeon

Haiku Heights

A quick trip down memory lane: He was seventeen. I was sixteen. His letters showed hints that he was poised to become a doctor. He sent roses…. We drifted apart. It was tough. But like everything else you get over it.

Fast forward to 2012: He sent me a brief note. Probably written during a break in a 16-hour shift. This time it was absolutely legible. Facebook does wonders ;p

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