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She Came To Me

She came to me in a dream last night. Her beautiful brown hair curled down past her bruised neck. Just as I remember. I asked her why she left me. No answer. I reached for her ice-cold hands but she pulled away and seeked chase towards the silence of a grassy summer opening, a clear starry night lit the quiet heavens. I awaited a question, an answer, but none came. She just pointed above us. Her expression changed rapidly, and I could feel my heart skip a beat. Her sense of warmth drowned to sorrow and lingered like a northwewestern fog. She laid down and I did the same. Her crumbling foundation gave and eventually I held her so. The tears came pouring from her almond eyes and I cried with her... I awoke with incapacitated thoughts, delusional and wicked. The grassy opening gone, the starry heavens gone, her face gone but not forgotten - and in their place hummed the orange streetlamp illuminating my sadness with its blunt, dull sodium-vapored glow.





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