The winter wind is whipping through the trees
the sunlight hardly stands a chance against the white sky
it's all just dark lines
the craggy arms of the trees
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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 ...