I ponder my double,
living in the silent voice.
I loved him in that moment,
in the echoing spaces.
Then I gave him twelve louis,
which was more than he deserved.
The tomato soup must still be hot.
I'm sorry. I have to go.
I just like forgotten things.
Compiled of bits and pieces found randomly in
Haruki Murakami: The Wild Sheep Chase
Audrey Niffenegger:
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