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She Was the Sun and the Moon

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She was the sun and the moon.
She was a living dream, a perfect storm, a constant hurricane.
She was the color blue and bubble gum, she was rock bands and new bestsellers and lazy days in green grasses.
She was nights underneath canvases of stars, blues and blacks and grays and the green tips of pine trees, color against the blanket of the universe.
She was black coffee and bleary eyes, and purple bathrobes and slippers.
She was blue eyes in sunlight and dust in a cloud from the window.
She was rainy days by the windowsill, tracing raindrops against the glass.
She was backyard barbecues at your neighbors house, the pavement sucking moisture from our shoes and the hiss of tires on the driveway.
She was sour lemonade and cheap sunglasses.
She was a sky sprinkled with dandelion yellow, and the first snow of winter.
She was everything, and I was nothing.
She held stars and I clocks.
She was the sun and the moon. 

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