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I look back and think about their sun-kissed face, peppered with freckles that brought out this jovial-like grin, and think to myself; how did our midnight sonets deter into something akin to sour crowing so quickly?
Even now, as I shout to the heavens while calling out their name, I force myself to reconcile with the knowledge that the poetic hymns we once made together are no more.
Our sonnets, that made angels weep at God's feet, are now replaced by vengeful croaks of resentful ex-lovers.
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