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Apr 2015
The sun has never shone so bright on August days.
Wind teases her hair, dancing on her face.
He brushes it back with the softest stroke.

Clouds hang low on December nights.
Snow falls on her fingertips.
He is stiff and rigid.

Why can't they love like August winds in December clouds?
Jacqueline
Written by
Jacqueline
616
   Brianne and Cecil Miller
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