Every morning around 2:00 am, my closet door opens wide, messages from the man inside, of occurrences on the other side.
He tells me of things he once saw, a life he regrets at times, a lost love he left go, intermingled with occasional rhymes.
He is always friendly, appreciative of my listening ears, losing contact with the living, is what he truly fears.
His eyes peaceful and sincere, a lost love he so reveres.
In an hour, it always ends the same way, a tearful goodbye, how the night does fly.
One final glance as he fades from sight, a caring smile graces his face, shall we meet tomorrow night, in this same small place?
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