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The secrets won't bind us in heatwaves anymore, the anticipation of autumn a delicate memory out of bloom, now finding its way through our veins.
I listen to your signal -
synthwaves on a sailboat...
I picked up the letter on
the dresser, leaving behind...
The lace hung from the rafters,
a piece stuck in time...
I am perpetually waking up
from the impact of you...
On that October eve,
I was like a gazelle...
Ink is my testimony; I pour it out and watch it bubble then boil until it burns my fingertips.
"Ready for warfare?", my mind antagonizes.
"I wasn't created for battlefields", my heart insists.
My heart is sick with grenades.
by tobias kinti