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Jan 2014
Our cold hands are grasped
as I rest my hungover head
on your shoulder.

I watch you drive
the salt-covered streets
of my hometown.

I smile gently at myself,
as I coat you with lies,
daydreams about our future.

Reminding myself that in a few days
I must leave again,
and it cannot be like this:

Normal.
Sea
Written by
Sea  United States
(United States)   
557
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