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I do not know this face
that beseeches
solemn eyes that plead
a pout that hints of cruelty
a narrow nose, arched brow, and precisely parted hair.

You stare out from another time
words scrawled in desperation
or desire
I cannot say.
"To Meagan, with a love beyond reason...
Yours, Jason."

Was love misplaced or did it endure?
I do not know,
but by the fates
your photograph displaced and your private words
are read by strangers

On the vendor's table
a relic from the past,
for small prices
he sells nostalgia and broken dreams.