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Melancholy

Melancholy

I wanted to write “arms” and not “Arm’s”
because I wanted ownership, but their length
are too far to touch—shoulders,
when you are standing; ship on display—too wide.
My eyes are strained from Looking

or trying not to look—for
ever, a

time we curated, a fight
we made. Peace
is what I wanted but I didn’t sign
my name, so I’m getting
letters by
you, to form a new one. People,
their hearts, never function to the notion: we can love again, but we’ll
never be
the same. it’s alright.

See Also

[End words: Song “Warm Glow” by Hippo Campus]

– Submission by Mackenzie Rae Vanacore / NY / www.paperpizzablog.com/

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