The Final Poem

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2026-06-04 10:15:49 -

The Final Poem

I The tea was exactly four minutes steeped when he appeared. I know this because I had developed a routine—tea at four o'clock precisely, Earl Grey, no milk, four minutes—and on this particular Tuesday in October, the routine was the only thing holding my life together. He was sitting in the chair by my window when I looked up. The chair was one I used for reading, a worn leather thing that had...

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