Love

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It was a choice
One I was forced to make
But the pain is real
So very real
Once a year
Only that and nothing more
Each November
More precious than the last
Each birthday
Harder to live with than the last
My arms remain empty
My ears void of your laughter
My sight limited to 2D photos
Your bright happy smile
My only reassurance
Letters of your achievements
The closest I’ll get for 18 years
I miss you my beautiful child
I wish I could hold you again.

Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter

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