She Never Came To Me

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I saw her every time I went to the Pizza Crème Palace: a chestnut-haired vision with a shattered heart.
Her name was Renee.

She was a waitress, but she was never mine.
I saw her move around the restaurant taking orders, smiling politely.

But her heart ached.
She longed to scream out her anguish and pain.

I longed to comfort her.
I wanted to be there for her, but she never came to me.

She moved around the restaurant taking orders, smiling politely.
She never took mine.

I wanted to go to her, but what could I say?
Could I interrupt a customer’s order and tell her that I see the hurt in her heart?

I could not.
So, I sat in my seat.

And she moved around the restaurant taking orders, smiling politely
She never came to me.

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