I'll never let it push your arms no more.
I miss writing prose.
There are many things I do not want to forget about you, but can I keep this one memory, please love?
On the trampoline at night under stars Claire de Lune so loud above our heads is the moon. And your laughter is the most silent, perfect music, and I know I wrote it. That's all a heart can want, and it's cold.
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