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Smelling Roses

Before I drift into nothingness,
I like to think about the word could.
Who I could be,
What I could have done,
The far away places I could go.

I reflect so much on the languor of life
That I forget to look for its beauty.

While I am dreaming about my perfect being,
Where nothing is the same and there are
Flawless designs of flawed people,

I do not notice the smell of asphalt after a drizzle
Or the electricity in the air before a first kiss
Or the
Or the
Or the



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