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Summer
Summers reek of a familiar scent
begrudging loneliness
and a hint of about a million
ideas that roam inside my head
To many to process
but just enough that I feel
the need to seek their creaking footsteps
Catastrophic curiosity about the past
all the yesterdays that made today
that painted the dusty room upstairs
gray and dull and empty
Still uncertainty
the things I remember
that don’t remember me
Time is forgetful
and that forgetfulness in turn
makes youth so arduous to preserve
makes youth a hearse
and preservation a sepulchre
If I had to guess what was missing
I’d say
my presence
my mind
and my heartbeat in sync with time
Yet summers are somehow the same
in its sun stinging against my flesh
always hoping for the best
in the midst of all the mess
again and again and again and again
Perpetuate
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