if your pencil
still has an eraser on it
then you are not
a writer
still has an eraser on it
then you are not
a writer
Dear love,
The night you slept in my room the first time you were wearing one of your white cotton shirts.
Cracked pavement tells the story that time refuses to forget.
And while tree roots weave their way underneath the ashen pavement,
Time is dripping away from me.
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