by Unknown
Oct 2020 223 Views 2 comments
one of mine
We were meant for biking miles in the fog, for laughing our aching ribs. Summer is only a word. But an orange word. Red sun spilling into the sky. burn of seawater. restless. There is hurt here. We are not too holy. We can save each other
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Posted: Oct 2020
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Comments (2)
Maybe there's still hope?