I set your plate. It’s getting cold.
The stories wait, but stay untold.
I saved your chair, I saved your side,
Yet all I hold is the space where you lied.
If wishing built roads, you’d be here by now—
Instead I’m waving at an empty how.
NovelToon got authorization from Ezekiel Lnonh to publish this work, the content is the author's own point of view, and does not represent the stand of NovelToon.
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