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I often think of you,

I often think of you, my dear friend. We had a time of friendship and a moment of love. You chose another in the end. I always thought I’d see you again somewhere down the road. Have a chance to talk to you, touch you. Then, the war got the best of you. When I got word that you were gone I couldn’t believe it. You were still so young. I heard you became a shell of the man you once were. Your laughter and humor died long before you did. You were overrun by your depression and left this world by your own hand. Now what is left are photos and memories and the hope of next lifetime.