Letters shaped into thumbprints circle my door frame. Not wet with blood or ink, but smeared with nostalgia. A small redhead with feline freckles whistles a casual song of yesterdays somewhere outside. I hum along in the common time of an old friend.
We're just two strangers who knew each other once.
We talk of growth and responsibility. We commiserate about our comfort. She stamps the conversation with things that shall pass, while I scribble alongside her notes with punctuation marks of present tense.
We laugh together a little. For an evening.
11:51 p.m. - 2015-07-02
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Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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