Jun 23, 10:07 PM by boy
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laughing, standing still, shaking from the joy of it?

all with our heads in our hands.

all thinking this was going to be the only moment.

just one minute more to count eleven things i hate on your witch hands.

folding paper to make a whistle — eyes closed.

eight breaths.

sick to our stomachs, bent over, shaking with the loss of it all.

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