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I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

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The Distance of Two
By lovelace.
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The Distance of Two

He said, “You the one who got away.”
She said, “You the one who passed me up.”

He said, “You left me.”
She said, “You pushed me away.”

He said, “I waited.”
She said, “Nah, You never got there.”








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