I still wake up like I'm dreaming
My hands still search the damp sheets for my phone scrambling for evidence that you're really gone. Maybe you're a leg I slept on funny numb and bloodless, but there The last time we spoke was two weeks ago perhaps only hours too early and already much too late The mechanical limbs turning and virus searching the miles between our beds I didn't say good night to you. I carried you around in my pocket not knowing that I'd open my eyes panting out everything I still haven't said to you only screen light smiling back
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KatA young adult. Archives
April 2020
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