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Broadsky Mar 2016
The feeling of riding shotgun in your car isn't a memorable feeling.
Less than
Stopping at all the shops we used to visit again, once hand in hand now three feet apart.
Watching the moon set over the mountains at seven in the morning, with a broken bone, a broken heart, and a cigarette lit between my numb fingers.
If past lovers are lessons, I learned yours the hardest.
Your brown eyed girl now has a fire in her eyes.
I will use it to keep him warm.
The lack of love you gave me will, in the end, haunt you, not me.

— The End —