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it’s the mornings when i feel it the most
the heavy shadow of years past growing threateningly like a deamon’s wing i feel older than the universe with every breath of air that forces itself into my lungs like a resolute woman trying a pair of shoes too small to fit her. sometimes it feels like I am breathing you all naked, with your smile filling my windpipes like forgotten notes of a chopin nocturne being slowly downloaded into my blood ever so painfully and then, finally, it’s the afternoons when young girls wearing red sneakers and airy dresses pass me by while their scarves wave at me with indecent irony it’s the hours when driven mad by heat dogs chase yellow taxis full with perfume and plans for the evening dinner it’s the hours when I choke on your dark hair trying to figure it all out what’s left of everything and which way to go and the sounds, the heat and my thoughts of you fade ever so painfully slowly breaking down into something else as if my whole life were a complicated digestive process of a strange creature called time.
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