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May 20
We slept shorter to so little
Working out ways making it up
To childish ourselves.
It still runs in our unruly family
Not to inflict pain; again,
Sometimes we talked to each other
In rapid sentences but longer silences,
Later β€”Β Β in letters sent to justify them,
Recalling the yard full of brittle
Wine peonies planted by our mother:
They gushed so much like us.
Written by
Elsie Greek  30/F/Ukraine
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