it haunts us.
the clocks are plucking birds from graves and shocking them to sing.
and it's just you and i
remembering
nothing.
a good sunday cry
a tear. one drop. rolls from your eye
into mine
and i cry.
we don't always remember the beauty we miss
you called it homesick.
my homemade cure
was a hug and a kiss.
work, i wished.
there is a future we don't plan within us
it wakes us.
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