When I understand you and your story
I don't have to understand my own, my
self. I can feel the spring wind during
winter. I can taste blackberries out
of season; they stain my lips, purple.
Your words narrate my mind into
abandoned homes and the wood
floors creak under scuffed shoes.
Chocolate ice cream has never
been as smooth and rich as when
I taste it while flipping through pages.
lovely. this is why i love reading.
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