The bird of paradise stopped on a tree, hung out on a branch, then flew away from me.
I watched him as he flew, and disappeared into the sky.
I wonder if that is paradise, whatever is out there.
Wherever he is flying to.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...