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Sep 2013
I guess that’s how things change:
like seasons but not nearly as methodic,
and like lovers or skin that finds
new indentations and marks over time.
Like how one day I look up over
my mug of coffee and you’re
no longer there across from me.
Instead, you’re a thousand miles
east or west and I can no longer
keep up with the colored marks on a map.
Written by
sisterlegionnaire
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