“I’m not good at living with someone,”
she said
looking down at the floor.
“I know,” I said.
“I’m not either.
But.”
And I went home and waited
for the song of tires on gravel
folded myself into him,
a tiny slip
of paper
in his palm.
“I’m not good at living with someone,”
she said
looking down at the floor.
“I know,” I said.
“I’m not either.
But.”
And I went home and waited
for the song of tires on gravel
folded myself into him,
a tiny slip
of paper
in his palm.
Beautiful
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