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Mar 2014
the idea of love
was infinity on the
slow moving hands
of a ticking watch
cool
on your wrist
it was once forever

the idea of love
used to be happiness
and pale white
golden sunlight
warming cheeks
hands interlocked
over and over

the idea of love
used to be everything
but it's nothing now
tainted
with not even sorrow
pluie d'été
Written by
pluie d'été
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