I guess.
I was dying last night.
Misty waters and rapid waves.
You sat on the boat across from me and I told you, "The best memories of my life were of you."
Memories are rickety bridges, creaky steps. Fill in the blanks, words robbed from banks. It is a belief that I believed, a kaleidoscope of softened blows and filtered colours.
I asked you, the question that crosses my mind whenever I feel a yearn
And you replied, "No."
I was flying one night.
And now I am here, crouching at your feet
Denying what my dreams know to be true
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