…tasted like the dust of dead bricks. And the ocean recalls the way you slowly spun like a jewelery box ballerina, blind and unsteady, when it whispered your name in a frothy dulcet tone. It wanted you, it wanted to pucker your skin in its cold salt water. It wanted to dance with you, as if you were a decorative piece of trash bobbing on its waves. But you wouldn’t love it. You were more enamored with the red rivers that twisted through the whites of your eyes. You wished to rub them from your smiles, and maybe the slow drumming of guilt thumping in your stomach would heave its way out too. And oh, a fairytale ending, a gentle cinematic grace, as light as snow flakes on eye lashes, will find you. He’ll carry you, his arms are steady, and just as you’ve measured the cleft of his chiseled chin with your curious finger, you remember you’re….
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