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May 2013
These golden sunglasses
Appeared on my doorstep
The last day of
The spring semester,
Sitting in a plastic pumpkin.

They weren’t mine
But when they break
I get them fixed
And when they don’t sit straight
I keep them
Because they remind me
Of how finals were over
And I slept through so many goodbyes.

The night before
We lay in your room
Sounds flowing through us like
Waves in the ocean,
Then moved to the grass outside
Watching more shooting stars than I could count.
The wood by the dorms was dark
And we ventured in in fits and starts,
The shadows of authority figures
Dancing around us.
The gazebo was silent.
And we journeyed across campus,
A pilgrimage through abandoned constructions
To see the church alight in the dark,
But the power was out and it was nothing.

I woke up in the afternoon
And knew that spring wouldn’t be back
For us.

The sunglasses weren’t mine
But someone left them at my door
And I keep them.
Michael Patrick
Written by
Michael Patrick
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