littlemisswoodstock
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Sink.


Notes

One of those nights. You know them well. You circle the moon with your index finger. Tap the stars. You spin, you dance. Smoke in your lungs, the music cradles you.The crickets, the train, your bare feet rooting themselves to the earth. You hear memories among the trees, a present that interrogates your future, a future that blames your past. You refuse to sink into your sorrows. Open your eyes wide, fill your lungs with the cold air. Your mind is warm, your heart is energized.


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