Sunday, February 13

all that one can do, you say, is proceed inside this tear, vibrate at the borders of memory. Not sure what you mean, but I like it. And I tear tears long and far away from you. I have nothing in my arms; nothing to give you, only a short small shy stroke on the forehead, but you do not take it. You let it fall, the law of gravity, you say, and I believe you.

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