

maybe in the morning,-maybe in the morning,
she remembers watching the sunset from her father shoulders and thinking that it was as if the sun was dying. as if its long life was slowly falling away behind the skyline and that it sprayed colors across the ever-darkening sky to remind people that death is a beautiful thing. that in the morning, a new sun would rise and everything will be bright. when she dies, she wants to go out like a sunrise. she wants people to watch in awe as she changes everything just one last time and makes death beautiful.
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she's older now, and she imagines that death is like being awake at night; the comforting si


harlequinade smilehe has a harlequinade smile and sometimes we fuck under the stars. in the backyard; a mess of drunken, tired limbs shaking in the breeze and shaking under one another, we disregard everything we care about for as long as we want and everything is perfect as long as we keep it that way.harlequinade smile
we collapse into each other; our heartbeats slowing and our breaths becoming deeper as we lay next to each other and watch what we can see of the stars from our suburban backyard. he tells me they're beautiful, and all i can remember is the real stars; the real night sky without the purple haze of pollution clouding the sky. i want to show him the


paper cranes and picket fencesi am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.paper cranes and picket fences
legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.
i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.
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you drew me a picture of us in the future. our houses were
--
raphael does photography, too!
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forget your enemies.
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Take these broken wings and learn to fly...
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forget your enemies.
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forget your enemies.
(and so sorry for the horribly late reply)
and no problemmm(:
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forget your enemies.
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I think you're a boy with eyes like wishing wells that never come true.
When it's almost a heartbeat away from silence she curls up in closets and the lack of oxygen makes her feel like she can fly.
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forget your enemies.
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