Day's onuses don't always spill into nights. There are peaceful hours when we may fall asleep with kisses tucked in our sleeves, a dream of narwhals in the sky waiting. 1

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My legs are tired from peddling down this river—a mix of tears & ink that saved me in earlier days. Their goal may be warm but inexperience misleads. Smiles are invigorating when they're not solely a choice.

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When yesterdays have exhausted & we've bankrupted worries from long nights, I hope the light outlining your silhouette stays clean if the sun abandons a day; & you still see doves & cats in every cloud.

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But your deception fails. The space between lemonade skies' rescue & the void's jealousy becomes filled w/alexithymia again; & the being drinks it from your bluing lips. 𝘙𝘶𝘧𝘧! 𝘎𝘙𝘙𝘙. 6

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Such glory in far fractals, making senses brittle when they twine w/ our sights. Like a picturesque vertigo from great heights from the adventurous torn love between clouds & falling snow.

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Nothing dilutes a panther's grace. As leaves mess & turn with gusts, as zinnias blossom in honour, as milestones come & go—their energy will forever stay. That is practical in its own right.

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Bouquets: often given as part of a celebration or forgiveness catalyst—but no matter how lovingly watered in pleasing vases, their flowers will wilt in immured gloom. I know such sad days away from the sun.

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