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Our duffle bags are filled with stained clothing.     stained memories.        The sun that burnt our pale skin so many times is now setting with a soft sympathy.                                              The Ending Begun, no mistakes existed in the circle game.   liquid flashbacks flew from our eyes and eased from our noses.     Summer had evaporated any grudges we held.       our dragon, Puff, blew magic in our hearts.          in our bags            our duffles weighed more than us and I knew why.              they held everything we had: early morning hot chocolates   air we flew through     snow ***** that hit our frozen bodies       lips of those we kissed         hands of those we held           hair of those we braided             Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh               the mountains we Climbed                 the buckets of tears in the ends                                                                           7 Groups of Shoes Thrown. my jet plane was leaving I knew what I was leaving behind and what was now mine. we weren't going home, not really.
0
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
Goodbye, Home
Our duffle bags are filled with stained clothing.     stained memories.        The sun that burnt our pale skin so many times is now setting with a soft sympathy.                                              The Ending Begun, no mistakes existed in the circle game.   liquid flashbacks flew from our eyes and eased from our noses.     Summer had evaporated any grudges we held.       our dragon, Puff, blew magic in our hearts.          in our bags            our duffles weighed more than us and I knew why.              they held everything we had: early morning hot chocolates   air we flew through     snow ***** that hit our frozen bodies       lips of those we kissed         hands of those we held           hair of those we braided             Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh               the mountains we Climbed                 the buckets of tears in the ends                                                                           7 Groups of Shoes Thrown. my jet plane was leaving I knew what I was leaving behind and what was now mine. we weren't going home, not really.
annaleisa
Written by
American
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
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