I will be waiting for you at the end of every blind alley, under the lonely streetlamps of a city that will no longer be ours.When the wind grows colder and the huge piles of settled leaves sit there for a week or two, unshielded from the curious gaze of passersby, I will be waiting for you.I will be waiting for what could have been and for what will never be;For the letters that never arrived, the letters that were never sent, and the letters that will never be written.
-Malak El Halabi
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