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more of a fall This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

I don't see why love is compared to spring.
It's nothing new.
If anything, love would be autumn:
The slow sense of losing yourself,
The mixed signals to go with the weather,
The way you shed the layers of your words
so that the bare bones of truth
become vulnerable to the cold,
and the leaves of every syllable lay
motionless on the ground.




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