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Oct 2015
I miss the myth that is you.
The mist of your window.
The wind of your breeze.
The motion of your ocean.
Infatuated with you like an infectious diseases.  I need you to breathe. A ride on your waves gives me my second wind. your sight alone is all I need. I am your fein.
Styles
Written by
Styles  NYC
(NYC)   
754
 
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