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Sand through my fingers. Seth is watching, 4 million counting. A quiet myth, post or pre- natal, we don't understand the breeze and twilight. Wishing, upon multiple stars, dad could be here with us. A sentimental thing, sis is happy being married. Counting white flowers in the fields by the old churchyard. Weather report, the mainland hazards always maximized, pointing. Seth's hair in the wind, masking his face 4 a moment. Dutch dikes, incandescent strong as they stand concrete above... My brother, & my junior, and me, standing by his grave...
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Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 9:04 AM UTC
Tipon, Prose (novel), March 2019.
Sand through my fingers. Seth is watching, 4 million counting. A quiet myth, post or pre- natal, we don't understand the breeze and twilight. Wishing, upon multiple stars, dad could be here with us. A sentimental thing, sis is happy being married. Counting white flowers in the fields by the old churchyard. Weather report, the mainland hazards always maximized, pointing. Seth's hair in the wind, masking his face 4 a moment. Dutch dikes, incandescent strong as they stand concrete above... My brother, & my junior, and me, standing by his grave...
Topic Holland & Home. (Dad paternal line: Jewish & English)
tipon
Written by
20/M/Netherlands
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 9:04 AM UTC
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