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Entering the Newest Stage of Grief

moonlight sparkling on the
windowpane of last night’s
old washed out picture-

in the moment of the purity
and mighty thought I fled into
my house too afraid to think you

might still think me pretty in any
real way- perhaps that’s the real
issue yes? But in the old night lined

music tones I feel complete and
wholly wondering in the pretty
haze of the momentary luck-





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