it is safe to want you, because you don’t want me back. don’t write to me. don’t sing to me through those bloodlet songs. Don’t think I don’t know this. Is it my fault that you are in Eldorado’s pine trees when night falls?
We are bound to dance our deaths down. What it comes to. What I ended. The curtains refuse to move. The glass is thick enough, I believe. The air ended, there. Somewhere there is music I can almost hear. Somewhere the upper branches of the pines are aware of snow. But not (yet) of falling.
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