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Oct 22. 2025
I am an empty sleeve that remembers a hand, a lighthouse tuned to a shore that’s out of sight. I taste like almost and ache like a half-song, the patient thief that borrows what you do not yet own.
Oct 22. 2025
I am an empty sleeve that remembers a hand, a lighthouse tuned to a shore that’s out of sight. I taste like almost and ache like a half-song, the patient thief that borrows what you do not yet own.