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Slippers




   It is a frosty October morning. A new moon hangs in the pale sky. 
And I slide my feet into your old slippers. 
The thought occurs that I don't need to apologize for borrowing them anymore. 
You used to ask me not to take them. They were broken in just right for you. 
I had my own slippers.
But after you died, I threw my own away.
I didn't need them. I had yours. My feet needed to fit in the imprints you left.
So I take a deep breath and open the door,
And though my breath rises like a ghost into the cold air
My feet and heart are warm as I whisper, "thank you."


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