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Day 15

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My mind revolves around the pen
And, to an empty page, it makes amends.
Critiquing every little thought
I fought
The night off.

The sun beats down upon our hair
As a distant bass begins to blare.
And I hold your hand in mine –
In time,
This will be true.

Like a memory yet to occur,
Like a passing shadow, faces blurred.
My dog-eared book now holds the key
To being

And I stare into your thoughtful eyes
Knowing my own shame:
That despite every effort I’ve applied
I’ll never know your name.

The darkness swallows up my thoughts
And brings conclusions that were blocked.
I anticipate my dreams
It seems
They’re my strongest suit.

A noise nearby now draws my ear,
Flooding all my soul with fear
That these pages might be read.
I’m dead –
Or that’s how it feels.

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