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Truths of Love (17)

Since the pen of love was set in motion,

I have been putting words to paper.

As the nights of separation darkened,

so the white pages filled with writing.

Yet even after a hundred thousand pages,

the book of love did not reach its end.

I saw that when compared with the lover’s worth 

those pages had no value.

Love made the pen falter and in jealousy 

washed away all that had been written.

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