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our love doesn’t exist.
but i can tell you about our love.
our love is like gold dust in a miner’s pan,
soft and glimmering, sparkes lost in the world,
thrown haphazardly across the sky.
our love is warm like a summer evening and gentle like the cool breeze you feel when you
fly on playground swings.
our love is that pent-up feeling before a rainstorm,
charged air and a sense of something to come.
our love is like the rainstorm,
soft and loud and enriching.
it’s in the air i breathe, and i’d breathe it all the time.
our love is like blueberries in a red wagon
-aesthetic, cold and sweet.
i taste every time i encounter you.
our love is the curious look on girl’s face,
awkward and longing to know,
to accept this feeling.
the feeling that doesn’t exist.
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