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The hat is draped like her low spirits,
there is nothing outside this place except reflections,
the coffee sits waiting, smelling better than it tastes.
There was a time when this would be waiting for someone,
a lover, a friend, a forbidden fruit, because on the windowsill
there is untouched fruit. Opposite there is the empty chair.
Beneath the table demure legs. White legs,
white tablecloth. The downcast eyes,
left behind.

The picture that paints a thousand words. I love the Edward Hopper Paintings you see everywhere. This is for them. Because whenever you travel you see the lost souls.

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