Breathtaking, what the night escapes from as the dawn runs down the street, rushing to the taxi and the stolen moments, before the lid of the jar is pried open and the butterflies escape.
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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 ...