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Missing


I miss you.

The way you walked.

Your posture.

Your facial features.

The way you wore your clothes.

Your demeanor.

How tough you were.

Your smart mouth and sly jokes.

The excitement in your voice when speaking of your talents.

Your love of your craft.

Your eyes.

The way your face lights up to music.

Your love of Black people.

Your growth.

Your ambition.

Your sense of humor.

The fire that burned brightly inside.

Your spontaneity.

I miss you. Dearly.

Because somehow you become a stranger.

A person gone.

And this stranger is someone I know.

And it is me.

I miss me.

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