2019, Proses

Bless you, wild/torn heart

I never told you and never heard it. But when morning sun rises its especially assigned metaphor does too. Bless hope. Burn hope.

I never told you but I wonder if you kind of knew. You know, kind of. And wonder is the keyword. Because what else are we capable of? Oh existential dread.

I want to write something poetic. If I thought of you long enough, maybe I could. But who has the energy? I mean, even you would know that. Neither of us.

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