"Write hard and clear about what hurts" - Ernest Hemingway
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he slept in a world slightly higher truer livelier than mine, a world that held him tighter and loved him sharper than i could have with my earthen arms. but i felt him come back to me when the weariness of my bones asked for a glimmer moment taste of eternity from his lips and he gave it to me
grape gatorade and high school memories were mixed together with our lips, then breathed out to fog up my windows and awaken mature desires we finally fulfilled in the dark, and then sipped with our coffee in the morning.
he slept facing his dreams, lost in a world that didn't feel the kisses i gently placed along his spine or hear the "my darling, i love you" that i breathed into his skin. he slept facing his dreams, and i laid against him, facing mine.