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May 2018
Sitting here alone,
Atop a pile of ash and burnt paper encased filters,
As Plant tells me of a girlong past,
Causing me to reminise.

Met by chance,
And instantly captured by your pure differentness,
The tint given to you by the city seemed to almost glow off of you in amber waves,
So different to what I was use to growing up in the Midwest.

Your starkness in the way you went about things,
Your personality drawing me deeper still.

Guilt I felt upon realizing what I felt,
For you were the sister to a man I could easily call a brother,
And tales told seemed somewhat tainted,
I knew some of your story without you knowing,
Like an invasion of privacy without doing anything wrong.

I'd come to visit you and the family,
My first trip to a place so large,
Everything so tall,
Nothing but in person did it injustice,
But alas I was only passing through.

I'd end up nestled into the mountains and lakes of the deep north,
And sometimes when flying I'd imagine I could just see the tips of the scycrapers on the horizon,
Like fingers on a hand waving a hello.

Plant has already left,
Waters, Gilmore, and Wright take his place,
Telling a most mournful tale,
The mound is growing quicker by the minute,
Teeth being unconsciously being ground.

When returning sometime later,
You could instantly see through the ruse,
Of the damage being hidden,
That the smile wasn't quite reaching my eyes,
But you said not a word,
For you knew I wasn't ready to talk.

I look away ashamed at our last meeting,
Hurting and lashing out,
Acting in a way quite opposite of the way I was raised.

I sit here now alone,
The guys long gone,
Leaving me with a parched throat.

Stepping out to the porch,
I look to the east,
To where the woods lay,
And imagine the glow of the city lights on the horizon,
So that New York Girl doesn't seem so far away.
Alex McQuate
Written by
Alex McQuate  24/M/Ohio
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