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taciturn;
July 21, 2011
I bleach my parchment daydreams over the plank by the sea, and I throw out the few crumbs from breakfast towards the seagull that always comes by here, and as the spray of the sea drenches my tired self whole, I wonder why people don’t catch falling stars and hold it above their heads, so the lost people could find their way home again.
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