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Aug 2020
We use to talk every night.
We’d lay there, looking up at the glowing stars taped onto the ceiling, watching them slowly fade into the dark.
Eventually all the light would exit the room, and the only thing we could see were the vivid images we painted with our young rambunctious minds.
Muffled laughter did not wake the giants.
Wispy alphabet soup poured endlessly into the dark abyss.
José Vaca
Written by
José Vaca  28/M
(28/M)   
  305
     Indeed, old poet MK and MS Anjaan
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