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Literature
when it is midnight,
remember:
i love you.
remember i will hold
your folded body as if it were a paper boat.
remember you can always
write me a letter. address it
to anonymous. put your whole
heart in it, struggling yet
alive.
above all, remember
mostly this:
life is transient,
but we are not. if we bury our toes
into damp soil along with the people
who leave us behind,
you and i
become no more than trees.
Literature
December
In hiding our skin from the cold that comes down to hug us
latching the wooden gate slowly
the rust sounding like tumbling
rain drips in chiseled rivers making
stars on the sidewalk
the endless whir of distant traffic meaning something's leaving
already consummate in the cracks of winter trees
a bird's hollow voice her hollow bones squeaking
from this I learn constancy
from this I learn the earth's inner warmth means time has passed
I think I should pose more challenges to it
because of passing
but I think I'll just go back inside
I think I'll just go back to bed
Literature
it began when:
his fingers beat his tears in the race to touch his cheek.
"don't you wish we'd have fallen in love?"
"every single day."
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For #SixWordStories's theme prompt: Paris. I admit that I went along with the whole "city of lovers" cliche. And after reading it, I realize how ridiculously sappy it sounds. -Hides-
So... remember when I said I might be spamming your inboxes? I think the time is upon us, guys. Brace yourselves.
So... remember when I said I might be spamming your inboxes? I think the time is upon us, guys. Brace yourselves.
© 2011 - 2024 CyneNoir
Comments19
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This is beautiful, instant favourite. Really, really lovely. Who cares if it's overly sentimental? I like it. <3 xox