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May 2016
19 is a strange number
fumbling somewhere between
adolescence and adulthood;

it is neither quiet nor loud,
a paradoxical misstep down
the path to Shiol

19 is a forgotten year,
buried under college-ruled
paper and lectures

it is the scent of petrichor,
a yearning for something
once seen but abandoned

19 is a dull ache at your breast,
one that even a photograph
cannot remedy– it is melancholy
Written by
serpentinium  23/F/Florida
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