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May 2015
18.
you are talking and i hear nothing
except flowers missing spring
buried deep beneath winter
burdened so heavy with purpose
but no way of showing.

i have retraced steps
to when you were golden
glowing at the back door
and i was april
standing open wide,
waiting at the storm door to let you in.

your laugh is like a familiar song.
i know the words but can't sing them without you.
a wildfire
Written by
a wildfire
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