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She recedes and
Crashes
As an ocean
Waves the eternal
Give
And take
Of a boat
Helplessly cast
Away
Our story was written
In pencil but
Your name is
Written
In ink
But now my
Thoughts turn to
December and
That morning when we all
Unloaded the dishwasher
Together and
It was perfect
Mortality is
The meaning
Of life
FOG
If you
Meet the truth
You know
It
If you don't
Know it
Then you didn't
Meet it
I think
That is somewhat true
Homesick for a moment
That doesn't
Exist
Now
Or forever
Hold your peace
...
I find it is
Much harder
To muster the ambition
To write
Out of emotional precaution
Rather than
Out of emotional necessity
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