I have placed a flower in a vase on my desk, a single crimson rose, and now the vase sits before a tombstone. People wink into sight and quickly slip out of sight like playful fingers and a coin. “I am sorry, my loves,” I say. And my shoulders rise a little to convey that these mistakes were no fault of mine. Would this statement be a great epitaph for my past relationships?
…He made it sound like a benediction.
Hadi Atallah 
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