Summer leaves, returning in the beginning of winter. Sequoias changing from bright to brown. A lost kit under the week of holiday masses. Another wave of what-ifs from trough to crest. I force myself to sit on the beach of shore-washed bones. Writing letters to fill folders and pack into bottles. A vanilla sunset awaits at the end of the month. I listen to the waves through old, busted headphones.
10:47 p.m. - 2017-12-11
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Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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