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I remember when

the two of us sat atop the large brown

Cedar oak, staring out at a trail of cars

crawling like Ants towards a violent sunset,

heading directly into their Heat Death

of the magnifying glass.

The air felt tight like impending winter nights.

‘Do you ever wonder how two

shoelaces look like kissing nooses?’

You had asked me as our feet

dangled off the crooked branches,

lifeless limbs swaying in the breeze.

The wind didn’t care we were there

and the leaves continued to rustle.

‘Kissing nooses?’ I echoed back,

barely a whisper against the wind’s

unyielding history. I could barely see you

rubbing your fingers against the tree’s

whipped skin.

‘Waiting for heads to fill them.’

‘One finger fits just the same.’

The last sliver of sunlight began

to pour into that unknown tomorrow,

and in that moment, we both wanted

to whisper the words ‘too short’

and ‘not enough.’

In the silence of the violet twilight

we both jumped.



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